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gOU 168168 



= OQ 

Gift of 

With the aid of the 




Gertrude Stein 


Gertrude Stein 


by Carl Van Vechten 



Copyright, 1946, by Random House, Inc. 

Published simultaneously in Canada by 
Random House of Canada Limited 

The editor and publishers acknowledge their 
indebtedness to the Hogarth Press for Composition 
as Explanation and Preciosilla; to Vanity Fair for 
Have They Attached Mary. He Giggled. (A 
Political Caricature] ; To The Atlantic Monthly for 
The Winner Loses. 

Designer: Ernst Rcichl 

Manufactured in the UnitcdStal 

by the Haddon Craftsmen, Inc., Scranton, Pa. 


A Message from Gertrude Stein vii 

A Stein Song by Carl Van Vechten ix 

The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas 3 

The Gradual Making of The Making of Americans 211 

The Making of Americans (Selected Passages) 229 
Three Portraits of Painters: 




Melanctha: EACH ONE AS SHE MAY 299 

Tender Buttons 407 

Composition as Explanation 453 

Portrait of Mabel Dodge at the Villa Curonia 465 
Have They Attacked Mary. He Giggled (A POLITICAL CARICATURE) 471 

As a Wife Has a Cow: A LOVE STORY 481 
Two Poems: 


Two Plays: 



Miss Furr and Miss Skeene 497 


A Sweet Tail (Gypsies) 505 

Four Saints in Three Acts 511 


The Coming of the Americans (from WARS i HAVE SEEN) 567 

FRONTISPIECE: Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas in the garden 
of their villa at Bilignin, 1934. Photograph by Carl Van Vechten. 


A Message from Gertrude Stein 

I always wanted to be historical, from almost a baby on, I felt that way 
about it, and Carl was one of the earliest ones that made me be certain 
that I was going to be. When I was around fourteen I used to love to say 
to myself those awful lines of George Eliot, May I be one of those im- 
mortal something or other, I havent the poem here and although I knew 
then how it went I do not now, and then later when they used to ask me 
when I was going back to America, not until I am a lion, I said, I was not 
completely certain that I was going to be but now here I am, thank you 
all. How terribly exciting each one of these were, first there was the doing 
of them, the intense feeling that they made sense, then the doubt and then 
each time over again the intense feeling that they did make sense. It was 
Carl who arranged for the printing of Tender Buttons, he knew and 
what a comfort it was that there was the further knowing of the printed 
page, so naturally it was he that would choose and introduce because he 
was the first that made the first solemn contract and even though the 
editor did disappear, it was not before the edition was printed and dis- 
tributed, wonderful days, and so little by little it was built up and all the 
time Carl wrote to me and I wrote to him and he always knew, and it 
was always a comfort and now he has put down all his knowledge of 
what I did and it is a great comfort. Then there was my first publisher 
who was commercial but who said he would print and he would publish 
even if he did not understand and if he did not make money, it sounds 
like a fairy tale but it is true, Bennett said, I will print a book of yours a 
year whatever it is and he has, and often I have worried but he always 
said there was nothing to worry about and there wasnt. And now I am 
pleased here are the selected writings and naturally I wanted more, but 
I do and can say that all that are here are those that I wanted the most, 
thanks and thanks again. 



June 18, 1946 


A Stein Song 

Gertrude Stein rings bells, loves baskets, and wears handsome waist- 
coats. She has a tenderness for green glass and buttons have a tender- 
ness for her. In the matter of fans you can only compare her with a 
motion-picture star in Hollywood and three generations of young 
writers have sat at her feet. She has influenced without coddling them. 
In her own time she is a legend and in her own country she is with 
honor. Keys to sacred doors have been presented to her and she under- 
stands how to open them. She writes books for children, plays for actors, 
and librettos for operas. Each one of them is one. For her a rose is a rose 
and how! 

I composed this strictly factual account of Miss Stein and her activities 
for a catalogue of the Gotham Book Mart in 1940, but all that I said 
then seems to be truer than ever today. Gertrude Stein currently is not 
merely a legend, but also a whole folklore, a subject for an epic poem, 
and the young GIs who crowded into her Paris apartment on the rue 
Christine during and after the Greater War have augmented the num- 
ber of her fans until their count is as hard to reckon as that of the grains 
of sand on the shore by the sea. During the war I frequently received 
letters from soldiers and sailors who, with only two days' furlough at 
their disposal and a long way to travel, sometimes by jeep, spent all of 
their free hours in Paris with the author of Tender Buttons. Other GIs 
bore her away on a flying tour of Germany and still others carried her 
by automobile to Belgium to speak to their cpmrades there. In Paris she 
gave public talks to groups of them too large to fit into her apartment. 
Life and the New Yorf( Times Magazine contracted for articles from her 
pen. Her play of existence in occupied France, Yes Is for a Very Young 
Man, was presently produced at the Community Playhouse in Pasadena, 
California. Some of these tributes, naturally, Were due to her personality 
and charm, but most of them stem directly from the library shelves 
which hold her collected works. Furthermore, as she once categorically 



informed Alfred Harcourt, it is to her so-called "difficult" works that 
she owes her world-wide celebrity. 

There is more direct testimony regarding her experiences with the 
GIs in her letters to me. On November 26, 1944, after the coming of the 
Americans, an event excitingly described in this Collection, she cabled 
me: "Joyous Days. Endless Love." In 1945, she wrote, "How we love the 
American army we never do stop loving the American army one single 
minute." If you will recall Alexandre Dumas's motto, J'aime qui m'aime, 
you will be certain they loved her too. Still later she wrote me: "Enclosed 
is a description of a talk I gave them which did excite them, they walked 
me home fifty strong after the lecture was over and in the narrow 
streets of the quarter they made all the automobiles take side streets, the 
police looked and followed a bit but gave it up." Captain Edmund 
Geisler, her escort on the Belgian excursion, said to me, "Wherever she 
spoke she was frank and even belligerent. She made the GIs awfully 
mad, but she also made them think and many ended in agreement with 


In Everybody's Autobiography, Gertrude Stein confesses : "It always did 
bother me that the American public were more interested in me than in 
my work." Perhaps this statement may be affirmed justifiably of the 
anonymous masses, but it would be incorrect to apply it generally to the 
critics, novelists, and reviewers who frequently have considered her 
writing worth discussing seriously. It has occurred to me that a brief 
summary of the opinions of a few of these distinguished gentlemen 
might serve to reassure the reading world at large and Miss Stein her- 
self on this controversial point. 

Andre Maurois, for example, says of her : "In the universal confusion 
(the war years and after) she remains intelligent; she has kept her poetic 
sense and even her sense of humor." Of Wars I Have Seen he writes : 
"The originality of the ideas, the deliberate fantasy of the comparisons, 
the naivete of the tone, combined with the profundity of the thought, 
the repetitions, the absence of punctuation, all that first irritates the 
reader finally convinces him so that more orthodox styles appear insipid 
to him. Gertrude Stein is believed to be a difficult writer. This is false. 


There is not a single phrase in this book that cannot be comprehended 
by a schoolgirl of sixteen years." 

Here is Ben Ray Redman's testimony : "Few writers have ever dared 
to be, or have ever been able to be, as simple as she, as simple as a child, 
pointing straight, going straight to the heart of a subject, to its roots; 
pointing straight, when and where adults would take a fancier way than 
pointing because they have learned not to point. ... In the past, per- 
haps wilfully, she has often failed to communicate, and it was either her 
misfortune or her fun, depending on her intention." 

Or perhaps you would prefer Virgil Thomson's capsule definition: 
"To have become a Founding Father of her century is her own reward 
for having long ago, and completely, dominated her language." 

An earlier, sympathetic, and highly descriptive view is that of Sher- 
wood Anderson: "She is laying word against word, relating sound to 
sound, feeling for the taste, the smell, the rhythm of the individual 
word. She is attempting to do something for the writers of our English 
speech that may be better understood after a time, and she is not in a 
hurry. . . . There is a thing one might call 'the extension of the prov- 
ince of his art' one wants to achieve. One works with words and one 
would like words that have a taste on the lips, that have a perfume to 
the nostrils, rattling words one can throw into a box and shake, making 
a sharp jingling sound, words that, when seen on the printed page, have 
a distinct arresting effect upon the eye, words that when they jump out 
from under the pen one may feel with the fingers as one might caress 
the cheeks of his beloved. And what I think is that these books of Ger- 
trude Stein do in a very real sense recreate life in words." 

William Carlos Williams's opinion is correlated to the above: "Hav- 
ing taken the words to her choice, to emphasize further what she has in 
mind she has completely unlinked them (in her most recent work: 
1930) from their former relationships to the sentence. This was abso- 
lutely essential and unescapable. Each under the new arrangement has 
a quality of its own, but not conjoined to carry the burden science, 
philosophy, and every higgledy-piggledy figment of law and order have 
been laying upon them in the past. They are like a crowd at Coney 
Island, let us say, seen from an airplane. . . . She has placed writing 
on a plane where it may deal unhampered with its own affairs, unbur- 
dened with scientific and philosophic lumber." 


Edmund Wilson feels compelled to admit: "Whenever we pick up 
her writings, however unintelligible we may find them, we are aware of 
a literary personality of unmistakable originality and distinction." 

Julian Sawyer contends: "If the name of anything or everything is 
dead, as Miss Stein has always rightly contested, the only thing to do 
to keep it alive is to rename it. And that is what Miss Stein did and 

Pursuing these commentators, I fall upon Thornton Wilder who as- 
serts: "There have been too many books that attempted to flatter or 
woo or persuade or coerce the reader. Miss Stein's theory of the audience 
insists on the fact that the richest rewards for the reader have come from 
those works in which the authors admitted no consideration of an audi- 
ence into their creating mind." 

And as a coda, allow me to permit Joseph Alsop, Jr., to speak : "Miss 
Stein is no out-pensioner upon Parnassus; no crank; no seeker after 
personal publicity; no fool. She is a remarkably shrewd woman, with an 
intelligence both sensitive and tough, and a single one of her books, 
Three Lives, is her sufficient ticket of admission to the small company 
of authors who have had something to say and have known how to 
say it." 


If Picasso is applauded for painting pictures which do not represent any- 
thing he has hitherto seen, if Schoenberg can pen a score that sounds 
entirely new even to ears accustomed to listen to modern music, why 
should an employer of English words be required to form sentences 
which are familiar in meaning, shape, and sound to any casual reader ? 
Miss Stein herself implies somewhere that where there is communica- 
tion (or identification) there can be no question of creation. This is solid 
ground, walked on realistically, as anyone who has been exposed to 
performances of music by Reger, for example, can readily testify. How- 
ever, it must be borne in mind that composers and painters are not 
always inspired to absolute creation: Schoenberg wrote music for Pel- 
leas et Melisande and the tuneful Vertyaerte Nacht, while Picasso had 
his rose and blue and classic periods which are representational. Like 
the composer and painter Miss Stein has her easier moments (The Auto- 
biography of Alice B. Tobias, for instance, is written in imitation of 


Miss Toklas's own manner) and even in her more "difficult" pages 
there are variations, some of which are in the nature of experiment. 
One of the earliest of her inventions was her use of repetition which 
she describes as "insistence." "Once started expressing this thing, ex- 
pressing anything there can be no repetition because the essence of that 
expression is insistence, and if you insist you must each time use em- 
phasis and if you use emphasis it is not possible while anybody is alive 
that they should use exactly the same emphasis. ... It is exactly like 
a frog hopping he cannot ever hop exactly the same distance or the 
same way of hopping at every hop. A bird's singing is perhaps the 
nearest thing to repetition but if you listen they too vary their insistence." 
Then she began to find new names for things, names which were not 
nouns, if possible, and, renaming things, became so enchanted some- 
times with her own talent and the music of the words as they dropped 
that she became enamored of the magic of the mere sounds, but quickly 
she sensed this was an impasse and began more and more to strive to 
express her exact meaning with pronouns, conjunctions, and participial 
clauses. After a while she came back to nouns, realizing that nouns, 
the names of things, make poetry, "When I said, A rose is a rose is a rose, 
and then later made that into a ring, I made poetry and what did I do I 
caressed completely caressed and addressed a noun." She had another 
period of exciting discovery when she found that paragraphs are emo- 
tional and sentences are not. Finally, it came to her that she could con- 
dense and concentrate her meaning into one word at a time, "even if 
there were always one after the other." "I found," she has told us, 
"that any kind of book if you read with glasses and somebody is cutting 
your hair and so you cannot keep the glasses on and you use your 
glasses as a magnifying glass and so read word by word reading word 
by word makes the writing that is not anything be something. ... So 
that shows to you that a whole thing is not interesting because as a 
whole well as a whole there has to be remembering and forgetting, but 
one at a time, oh one at a time is something oh yes definitely something." 
But do not get the idea that her essential appeal is to the ear or the 
subconscious. "It is her eyes and mind that are important and concerned 
in choosing." Perhaps the most concrete explanation of her work that 
she has ever given us is the following (from The Autobiography of 
Alice B. Tobias) : "Gertrude Stein, in her work, has always been pos- 
sessed by the intellectual passion for exactitude in the description of 


inner and outer reality. She has produced a simplification by this con- 
centration, and as a result the destruction of associational emotion in 
poetry and prose. She knows that beauty, music, decoration, the result 
of emotion should never be the cause, even events should not be the 
cause of emotion nor should emotion itself be the cause of poetry or 
prose. They should consist of an exact reproduction of either an outer 
or inner reality." She says again, this time in What Are Masterpieces, 
"If you do not remember while you are writing, it may seem confused 
to others but actually it is clear and eventually that clarity will be clear 
that is what a masterpiece is, but if you remember while you are writing 
it will seem clear at the time to any one but the clarity will go out of it 
that is what a masterpiece is not." 

In whatever style it pleases Miss Stein to write, however, it is her 
custom to deal almost exclusively with "actualities," portraits of people 
she f{nows, descriptions of places, objects, and events which surround 
her and with which she is immediately concerned. This quality, true of 
almost all of her writing since Three Lives and The Making of Amer- 
icans, her perpetual good humor, and her sense of fun, which leads her 
occasionally into intentional obscurantism, all assist in keeping part of 
her prospective audience at a little distance behind her. There is, for 
instance, in Four Saints at the close of the celebrated Pigeons on the 
Grass air (an air the meaning of which has been elucidated both by 
Miss Stein and Julian Sawyer) a passage which runs Lucy Lily Lily 
Lucy, etc., beautifully effective as sung to the music in Virgil Thom- 
son's score. Those who believe this to be meaningless embroidery, like 
Hey, nonny nonny in an Elizabethan ballad, are perfectly sane. Miss 
Stein enjoyed the sound of the words, but the words did not come to her 
out of thin air, as is evidenced by a discovery I made recently. Lucy Lily 
Lamont is a girl who lives on page 35 of Wars I Have Seen and from 
the context one might gather that Miss Stein knew her a long time ago. 
Another example of this bewildering kind of reference is the "October 
15" paragraph in As a Wife Has a Cow in the current collection. In 
my note to that idyl I have referred the reader to the probable origin 
of this passage. The books of this artist are indeed full of these sly refer- 
ences to matters unknown to their readers and only someone completely 
familiar with the routine, and roundabout, ways of Miss Stein's daily 
life would be able to explain every line of her prose, but without even 


mentioning Joyce's Ulysses or Eliot's The Waste Land, could not the 
same thing be said truthfully of Shakespeare's Sonnets ? 

No wonder Miss Stein exclaims pleasurably somewhere or other: 
"Also there is why is it that in this epoch the only real literary thinking 
has been done by a woman." 


The material I have selected for this Collection contains at least a sample 
of practically every period and every manner in Gertrude Stein's career 
from the earliest to the latest. Her five earliest works (with the excep- 
tion of Cultivated. Motor Automatism, which she wrote as a student) 
are included, all but one complete, and it is significant that none of 
them resembles its neighbor in style. Melanctha, in manner, differs from 
The Making of Americans and the same may be said of Tender Buttons, 
the Portrait of Mable Dodge at the Villa Curonia, and the portraits of 
Matisse and Picasso published in Camera WorJ^ in 1912. Definite dates 
do not mark her various modes into periods as they do those of Picasso. 
Her very latest books, Wars I Have Seen and Brewsie and Willie, are 
not written in perplexing prose. I have, I think, included a sample of 
most of the forms in which she has worked. Not only the famous Four 
Saints, but also two other plays from an earlier period are to be discov- 
ered herein. Examples of her poetry, of her lectures, and essays may be 
examined in these pages. Lack of space has prevented me from includ- 
ing either of her novels, Ida or Lucy Church Amiably. Miss Furr and 
Miss Sl^ene and Melanctha, however, give sufficient indication of her 
talent for fiction. Of her two books for children, The World Is Round 
and the unpublished (except in French translation) First Reader noth- 
ing is offered either. On the other hand, every element of her so-called 
"difficult" manner is represented together with two essays attempting to 
explain this manner and, of course, The Autobiography of Alice B. 
Tobias explains pretty nearly everything to everybody. Dear Gertrude, 
may I do a little caressing myself and say truthfully A Collection is a 
Collection is a Collection ? 

New Yor{, April n, 1946 

My introduction to this volume was written, and sent to the printer, 
a little over three months before Gertrude Stein's death in Paris, July 27, 
7946, but I feel that it is wiser, for both sentimental and practical reasons, 
to let it stand unchanged. 

C. V. V. 


Alice B. Toklas 

Written in 1932, published by Harcourt Brace and Co., in 1933. An 
abridged version had appeared previously in the ATLANTIC MONTHLY. 
In EVERYBODY'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY Gertrude Stein has written: "Well any- 
way it was a beautiful autumn in Bilignin and in six wee^s I wrote THE 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ALICE B. TOKLAS and it was published and it became 
a best seller. . . . 7 bought myself a new eight-cylinder Ford car and 
the most expensive coat made to order by Hermes and fitted by the man 
who makes horse covers for race horses for Basket the white poodle and 
two collars studded for Basket. I had never made any money before in 
my life and I was most excited!' 

1 Before I Came to Paris 

I was born in San Francisco, California. I have in consequence always 
preferred living in a temperate climate but it is difficult, on the continent 
of Europe or even in America, to find a temperate climate and live in it. 
My mother's father was a pioneer, he came to California in '49, he 
married my grandmother who was very fond of music. She was a pupil 
of Clara Schumann's father. My mother was a quiet charming woman 
named Emilie. 

My father came of polish patriotic stock. His grand-uncle raised a 
regiment for Napoleon and was its colonel. His father left his mother 
just after their marriage, to fight at the barricades in Paris, but his 
wife having cut off his supplies, he soon returned and led the life of 
a conservative well to do land owner. 

I myself have had no liking for violence and have always enjoyed the 
pleasures of needlework and gardening. I am fond of paintings, furni- 
ture, tapestry, houses and flowers and even vegetables and fruit-trees. I 
like a view but I like to sit with my back turned to it. 

I led in my childhood and youth the gently bred existence of my class 
and kind. I had some intellectual adventures at this period but very quiet 
ones. When I was about nineteen years of age I was a great admirer of 
Henry James. I felt that The Awkward Age would make a very remark- 
able play and I wrote to Henry James suggesting that I dramatise it. I 
had from him a delightful letter on the subject and then, when I felt 
my inadequacy, rather blushed for myself and did not keep the letter. 
Perhaps at that time I did not feel that I was justified in preserving it, 
at any rate it no longer exists. 

Up to my twentieth year I was seriously interested in music. I studied 
and practised assiduously but shortly then it seemed futile, my mother 
had died and there Nvas no unconquerable sadness, but there was no 
real interest that led me on. In the story Ada in Geography and Plays 



Gertrude Stein has given a very good description of me as I was at that 

From then on for about six years I was well occupied. I led a pleasant 
life, I had many friends, much amusement many interests, my life was 
reasonably full and I enjoyed it but I was not very ardent in it. This 
brings me to the San Francisco fire which had as a consequence that the 
elder brother of Gertrude Stein and his wife came back from Paris to 
San Francisco and this led to a complete change in my life. 

I was at this time living with my father and brother. My father was a 
quiet man who took things quietly, although he felt them deeply. The 
first terrible morning of the San Francisco fire I woke him and told 
him, the city has been rocked by an earthquake and is now on fire. That 
will give us a black eye in the East, he replied turning and going to sleep 
again. I remember that once when my brother and a comrade had gone 
horse-back riding, one of the horses returned riderless to the hotel, the 
mother of the other boy began to make a terrible scene. Be calm madam, 
said my father, perhaps it is my son who has been killed. One of his 
axioms I always remember, if you must do a thing do it graciously. He 
also told me that a hostess should never apologise for any failure in her 
household arrangements, if there is a hostess there is insofar as there is 
a hostess no failure. 

As I was saying we were all living comfortably together and there had 
been in my mind no active desire or thought of change. The disturbance 
of the routine of our lives by the fire followed by the coming of Gertrude 
Stem's older brother and his wife made the difference. 

Mrs. Stein brought with her three little Matisse paintings, the first 
modern things to cross the Atlantic. I made her acquaintance at this 
time of general upset and she showed them to me, she also told me many 
stories of her life in Paris. Gradually I told my father that perhaps I 
would leave San Francisco. He was not disturbed by this, after all there 
was at that time a great deal of going and coming and there were many 
friends of mine going. Within a year I also had gone and I had come 
to Paris. There I went to see Mrs. Stein who had in the meantime re- 
turned to Paris, and there at her house I met Gertrude Stein. I was im- 
pressed by the coral brooch she wore and by her voice. I may say that 
only three times in my life have I met a genius and each time a bell 
within me rang and I was not mistaken, and I may say in each case it 
was before there was any general recognition of the quality of genius in 


them. The three geniuses of whom I wish to speak are Gertrude Stein, 
Pablo Picasso and Alfred Whitehead. I have met many important peo- 
ple, I have met several great people but I have only known three first 
class geniuses and in each case on sight within me something rang. In 
no one of the three cases have I been mistaken. In this way my new 
full life began. 

2 My Arrival in Paris 

This was the year 1907. Gertrude Stein was just seeing through the press 
Three Lives which she was having privately printed, and she was deep 
in The Making of Americans, her thousand page book. Picasso had just 
finished his portrait of her which nobody at that time liked except the 
painter and the painted and which is now so famous, and he had just 
begun his strange complicated picture of three women, Matisse had 
just finished his Bonheur de Vivre, his first big composition which gave 
him the name of fauve or a zoo. It was the moment Max Jacob has since 
called the heroic age of cubism. I remember not long ago hearing Picasso 
and Gertrude Stein talking about various things that had happened at 
that time, one of them said but all that could not have happened in that 
one year, oh said the other, my dear you forget we were young then and 
we did a great deal in a year. 

There are a great many things to tell of what was happening then and 
what had happened before, which led up to then, but now I must de- 
scribe what I saw when I came. 

The home at 27 rue de Fleurus consisted then as it does now of a tiny 
pavilion of two stories with four small rooms, a kitchen and bath, and 
a very large atelier adjoining. Now the atelier is attached to the pavilion 
by a tiny hall passage added in 1914 but at that time the atelier had its 
own entrance, one rang the bell of the pavilion or knocked at the door 
of the atelier, and a great many people did both, but more knocked at 
the atelier. I was privileged to do both. I had been invited to dine on 
Saturday evening which was the evening when everybody came, and 
indeed everybody did come. I went to dinner. The dinner was cooked 
by Helene. I must tell a little about Helene. 

Helene had already been two years with Gertrude Stein and her 
brother. She was one of those admirable bonnes in other words excellent 
maids of all work, good cooks thoroughly occupied with the welfare of 
their employers and of themselves, firmly convinced that everything 



purchasable was far too dear. Oh but it is dear, was her answer to any 
question. She wasted nothing and carried on the household at the 
regular rate of eight francs a day. She even wanted to include guests at 
that price, it was her pride, but of course that was difficult since she for 
the honour of her house as well as to satisfy her employers always had 
to give every one enough to eat. She was a most excellent cook and she 
made a very good souffle. In those days most of the guests were living 
more or less precariously, no one starved, some one always helped but 
still most of them did not live in abundance. It was Braque who said 
about four years later when they were all beginning to be known, with 
a sigh and a smile, how life has changed we all now have cooks who 
can make a souffle. 

Helene had her opinions, she did not for instance like Matisse. She 
said a frenchman should not stay unexpectedly to a meal particularly if 
he asked the servant beforehand what there was for dinner. She said 
foreigners had a perfect right to do these things but not a frenchman 
and Matisse had once done it. So when Miss Stein said to her, Monsieur 
Matisse is staying for dinner this evening, she would say, in that case I 
will not make an omelette but fry the eggs. It takes the same number of 
eggs and the same amount of butter but it shows less respect, and he 
will understand. 

Helene stayed with the household until the end of 1913. Then her 
husband, by that time she had married and had a little boy, insisted that 
she work for others no longer. To her great regret she left and later she 
always said that life at home was never as amusing as it had been at 
the rue de Fleurus. Much later, only about three years ago, she came 
back for a year, she and her husband had fallen on bad times and her boy 
had died. She was as cheery as ever and enormously interested. She said 
isn't it extraordinary, all those people whom I knew when they were 
nobody are now always mentioned in the newspapers, and the other 
night over the radio they mentioned the name of Monsieur Picasso. 
Why they even speak in the newspapers of Monsieur Braque, who used 
to hold up the big pictures to hang because he was the strongest, while 
the janitor drove the nails, and they are putting into the Louvre, just 
imagine it, into the Louvre, a picture by that little poor Monsieur Rous- 
seau, who was so timid he did not even have courage enough to knock 
at the door. She was terribly interested in seeing Monsieur Picasso and 
his wife and child and cooked her very best dinner for him, but how he 


has changed, she said, well, said she, I suppose -that is natural but then 
he has a lovely son. We thought that really Helene had come back to 
give the young generation the once over. She had in a way but she was 
not interested in them. She said they made no impression on her which 
made them all very sad because the legend of her was well known to all 
Paris. After a year things were going better again, her husband was 
earning more money, and she once more remains at home. But to come 
back to 1907. 

Before I tell about the guests I must tell what I saw. As I said being 
invited to dinner I rang the bell of the little pavilion and was taken into 
the tiny hall and then into the small dining room lined with books. On 
the only free space, the doors, were tacked up a few drawings by Picasso 
and Matisse. As the other guests had not yet come Miss Stein took me 
into the atelier. It often rained in Paris and it was always difficult to go 
from the little pavilion to the atelier door in the rain in evening clothes, 
but you were not to mind such things as the hosts and most of the 
guests did not. We went into the atelier which opened with a yale key 
the only yale key in the quarter at that time, and this was not so much 
for safety, because in those days the pictures had no value, but because 
the key was small and could go into a purse instead of being enormous 
as french keys were. Against the walls were several pieces of large Italian 
renaissance furniture and in the middle of the room was a big renais- 
sance table, on it a lovely inkstand, and at one end of it note-books 
neatly arranged, the kind of note-books french children use, with pic- 
tures of earthquakes and explorations on the outside of them. And on 
all the walls right up to the ceiling were pictures. At one end of the room 
was a big cast iron stove that Helene came in and filled with a rattle, 
and in one corner of the room was a large table on which were horse- 
shoe nails and pebbles and little pipe cigarette holders which one looked 
at curiously but did not touch, but which turned out later to be accumula- 
tions from the pockets of Picasso and Gertrude Stein. But to return to 
the pictures. The pictures were so strange that one quite instinctively 
looked at anything rather than at them just at first. I have refreshed my 
memory by looking at some snap shots taken inside the atelier at that 
time. The chairs in the room were also all italian renaissance, not very 
comfortable for short-legged people and one got the habit of sitting on 
one's legs. Miss Stein sat near the stove in a lovely high-backed one and 
she peacefully let her legs hang, which was a matter of habit, and when 


any one of the many visitors came to ask her a question she lifted her- 
self up out of this chair and usually replied in french, not just now. 
This usually referred to something they wished to see, drawings which 
were put away, some german had once spilled ink on one, or some other 
not to be fulfilled desire. But to return to the pictures. As I say they 
completely covered the white-washed walls right up to the top of the 
very high ceiling! The room was lit at this time by high gas fixtures. 
This was the second stage. They had just been put in. Before that there 
had only been lamps, and a stalwart guest held up the lamp while the 
others looked. But gas had just been put in and an ingenious american 
painter named Sayen, to divert his mind from the birth of his first child, 
was arranging some mechanical contrivance that would light the high 
fixtures by themselves. The old landlady extremely conservative did not 
allow electricity in her houses and electricity was not put in until 1914, 
the old landlady by that time too old to know the difference, her house 
agent gave permission. But this time I am really going to tell about the 

It is very difficult now that everybody is accustomed to everything to 
give some idea of the kind of uneasiness one felt when one first looked 
at all these pictures on these walls. In those days there were pictures of 
all kinds there, the time had not yet come when there were only Ce- 
zannes, Renoirs, Matisses and Picassos, nor as it was even later only 
Cezannes and Picassos. At that time there was a great deal of Matisse, 
Picasso, Renoir, Cezanne but there were also a great many other things. 
There were two Gauguins, there were Manguins, there was a big nude 
by Valloton that felt like only it was not like the Odalisque of Manet, 
there was a Toulouse-Lautrec. Once about this time Picasso looking at 
this and greatly daring said, but all the same I do paint better than he 
did. Toulouse-Lautrec had been the most important of his early influ- 
ences. I later bought a little tiny picture by Picasso of that epoch. There 
was a portrait of Gertrude Stein by Valloton that might have been a 
David but was not, there was a Maurice Denis, a little Daumier, many 
Cezanne water colours, there was in short everything, there was even a 
little Delacroix and a moderate sized Greco. There were enormous Pi- 
cassos of the Harlequin period, there were two rows of Matisses, there 
was a big portrait of a woman by Cezanne and some little Cezannes, 
all these pictures had a history and I will soon tell them. Now I was 
confused and I looked and I looked and I was confused. Gertrude Stein 


and her brother were so accustomed to this state of mind in a guest that 
they paid no attention to it. Then there was a sharp tap at the atelier 
door. Gertrude Stein opened it and a little dark dapper man came in 
with hair, eyes, face, hands and feet all very much alive. Hullo Alfy, she 
said, this is Miss Toklas. How do you do Miss Toklas, he said very 
solemnly. This was Alfy Maurer an old habitue of the house. He had 
been there before there were these pictures, when there were only Japa- 
nese prints, and he was among those who used to light matches to light 
up a little piece of the Cezanne portrait. Of course you can tell it is a 
finished picture, he used to explain to the other american painters who 
came and looked dubiously, you can tell because it has a frame, now 
whoever heard of anybody framing a canvas if ihe picture isn't finished. 
He had followed, followed, followed always humbly always sincerely, 
it was he who selected the first lot of pictures for the famous Barnes 
collection some years later faithfully and enthusiastically. It was he who 
when later Barnes came to the house and waved his cheque-book said, 
so help me God, I didn't bring him. Gertrude Stein who has an explo- 
sive temper, came in another evening and there were her brother, Alfy 
and a stranger. She did not like the stranger's looks. Who is that, said 
she to Alfy. I didn't bring him, said Alfy. He looks like a Jew, said Ger- 
trude Stein, he is worse than that, says Alfy. But to return to that first 
evening. A few minutes after Alfy came in there was a violent knock 
at the door and, dinner is ready, from Helene. It's funny the Picassos 
have not come, said they all, however we won't wait at least Helene 
won't wait. So we went into the court and into the pavilion and dining 
room and began dinner. It's funny, said Miss Stein, Pablo is always 
promptness itself, he is never early and he is never late, it is his pride 
that punctuality is the politeness of kings, he even makes Fernande 
punctual. Of course he often says yes when he has no intention of doing 
what he says yes to, he can't say no, no is not in his vocabulary and you 
have to know whether his yes means yes or means no, but when he says 
a yes that means yes and he did about tonight he is always punctual. 
These were the days before automobiles and nobody worried about acci- 
dents. We had just finished the first course when there was a quick 
patter of footsteps in the court and Helene opened the door before the 
bell rang. Pablo and Fernande as everybody called them at that time 
walked in. He, small, quick moving but not restless, his eyes having a 
strange faculty of opening wide and drinking in what he wished to see. 


He had the isolation and movement of the head of a bull-fighter at the 
head of their procession. Fernande was a tall beautiful woman with a 
wonderful big hat and a very evidently new dress, they were both very 
fussed. I am very upset, said Pablo, but you know very well Gertrude 
I am never late but Fernande had ordered a dress for the vernissage to- 
morrow and it didn't come. Well here you are anyway, said Miss Stein, 
since it's you Helene won't mind. And we all sat down. I was next to 
Picasso who was silent and then gradually became peaceful. Alfy paid 
compliments to Fernande and she was soon calm and placid. After a 
little while I murmured to Picasso that I liked his portrait of Gertrude 
Stein. Yes, he said, everybody says that she does not look like it but that 
does not make any difference, she will, he said. The conversation soon 
became lively it was all about the opening day of the salon independant 
which was the great event of the year. Everybody was interested in all 
the scandals that would or would not break out. Picasso never exhibited 
but as his followers did and there were a great many stories connected 
with each follower the hopes and fears were vivacious. 

While he were having coffee footsteps were heard in the court quite 
a number of footsteps and Miss Stein rose and said, don't hurry, I have 
to let them in. And she left. 

When we went into the atelier there were already quite a number of 
people in the room, scattered groups, single and couples all looking and 
looking. Gertrude Stein sat by the stove talking and listening and get- 
ting up to open the door and go up to various people talking and listen- 
ing. She usually opened the door to the knock and the usual formula 
was, de la part de qui venez-vous, who is your introducer. The idea was 
that anybody could come but for form's sake and in Paris you have to 
have a formula, everybody was supposed to be able to mention the name 
of somebody who had told them about it. It was a mere form, really 
everybody could come in and as at that time these pictures had no value 
and there was no social privilege attached to knowing any one there, 
only those came who really were interested. So as I say anybody could 
come in, however, there was the formula. Miss Stein once in opening 
the door said as she usually did by whose invitation do you come and 
we heard an aggrieved voice reply, but by yours, madame. He was a 
young man Gertrude Stein had met somewhere and with whom she had 
had a long conversation and to whom she had given a cordial invitation 
and then had as promptly forgotten. 


The room was soon very very full and who were they all. Groups of 
hungarian painters and writers, it happened that some hungarian had 
once been brought and the word had spread from him throughout all 
Hungary, any village where there was a young man who had ambitions 
heard of 27 rue de Fleurus and then he lived but to get there and a 
great many did get there. They were always there, all sizes and shapes, 
all degrees of wealth and poverty, some very charming, some simply 
rough and every now and then a very beautiful young peasant. Then 
there were quantities of germans, not too popular because they tended 
always to want to see anything that was put away and they tended to 
break things and Gertrude Stein has a weakness for breakable objects, 
she has a horror of people who collect only, the unbreakable. Then 
there was a fair sprinkling of americans, Mildred Aldrich would bring 
a group or Sayen, the electrician, or some painter and occasionally an 
architectural student would accidentally get there and then there were 
the habitues, among them Miss Mars and Miss Squires whom Gertrude 
Stein afterwards immortalised in her story of Miss Furr and Miss 
Skeene. On that first night Miss Mars and I talked of a subject then 
entirely new, how to make up your face. She was interested in types, 
she knew that there were femme decorative, femme d'interieur and 
femme intrigante; there was no doubt that Fernande Picasso was a 
femme decorative, but what was Madame Matisse, femme d'interieur, 
I said, and she was very pleased. From time to time one heard the high 
Spanish whinnying laugh of Picasso and gay contralto outbreak of Ger- 
trude Stein, people came and went, in and out. Miss Stein told me to 
sit with Fernande. Fernande was always beautiful but heavy in hand. 
I sat, it was my first sitting with a wife of a genius. 

Before I decided to write this book my twenty-five years with Ger- 
trude Stein, I had often said that I would write, The wives of geniuses 
I have sat with. I have sat with so many. I have sat with wives who 
were not wives, of geniuses who were real geniuses. I have sat with real 
wives of geniuses who were not real geniuses. I have sat with wives of 
geniuses, of near geniuses, of would be geniuses, in short 1 have sat very 
often and very long with many wives and wives of many geniuses. 

As I was saying Fernande, who was then living with Picasso and 
had been with him a long time that is to say they were all twenty-four 
years old at that time but they had been together a long time, Fernande 
was the first wife of a genius I sat with and she was not the least amus- 


ing. We talked hats. Fernande had two subjects hats and perfumes. This 
first day we talked hats. She liked hats, she had the true french feeling 
about a hat, if a hat did not provoke some witticism from a man on the 
street the hat was not a success. Later on once in Montmartre she and I 
were walking together. She had on a large yellow hat and I had on a 
much smaller blue one. As we were walking along a workman stopped 
and called out, there go the sun and the moon shining together. Ah, said 
Fernande to me with a radiant smile, you see our hats are a success. 

Miss Stein called me and said she wanted to have me meet Matisse. 
She was talking to a medium sized man with a reddish beard and 
glasses. He had a very alert although slightly heavy presence and Miss 
Stein and he seemed to be full of hidden meanings. As I came up I 
heard her say, Oh yes but it would be more difficult now. We were talk- 
ing, she said, of a lunch party we had in here last year. We had just 
hung all the pictures and we asked all the painters. You know how paint- 
ers are, I wanted to make them happy so I placed each one opposite his 
own picture, and they were happy so happy that we had to send out twice 
for more bread, when you know France you will know that that means 
that they were happy, because they cannot eat and drink without bread 
and we had to send out twice for bread so they were happy. Nobody 
noticed my little arrangement except Matisse and he did not until just 
as he left, and now he says it is a proof that I am very wicked, Matisse 
laughed and said, yes I know Mademoiselle Gertrude, the world is a 
theatre for you, but there are theatres and theatres, and when you listen 
so carefully to me and so attentively and do not hear a word I say then 
I do say that you are very wicked. Then they both began talking about 
the vernissage of the independent as every one else was doing and of 
course I did not know what it was all about. But gradually I knew and 
later on I will tell the story of the pictures, their painters and their fol- 
lowers and what this conversation meant. 

Later I was near Picasso, he was standing meditatively. Do you think, 
he said, that I really do look like your president Lincoln. I had thought 
a good many things that evening but I had not thought that. You see, 
he went on, Gertrude, (I wish I could convey something of the simple 
affection and confidence with which he always pronounced her name 
and with which she always said, Pablo. In all their long friendship with 
all its sometimes troubled moments and its complications this has never 
changed.) Gertrude showed me a photograph of him and I have been 


trying to arrange my hair to look like his, I think my forehead does. 
I did not know whether he meant it or not but I was sympathetic. I did 
not realise then how completely and entirely american was Gertrude 
Stein. Later I often teased her, calling her a general, a civil war general 
of either or both sides. She had a series of photographs of the civil war, 
rather wonderful photographs and she and Picasso used to pore over 
them. Then he would suddenly remember the Spanish war and he be- 
came very Spanish and very bitter and Spain and America in their per- 
sons could say very bitter things about each other's country. But at this 
my first evening I knew nothing of all this and so I was polite and that 
was all. 

And now the evening was drawing to a close. Everybody was leaving 
and everybody was still talking about the vernissage of the independent. 
I too left carrying with me a card of invitation for the vernissage. And 
so this, one of the most important evenings of my life, came to an end. 

I went to the vernissage taking with me a friend, the invitation I had 
been given admitting two. We went very early. I had been told to go 
early otherwise we would not be able to see anything, and there would 
be no place to sit, and my friend liked to sit. We went to the building 
just put up for this salon. In France they always put things up just for 
the day or for a few days and then take them down again. Gertrude 
Stein's elder brother always says that the secret of the chronic employ- 
ment or lack of unemployment in France is due to the number of men 
actively engaged in putting up and taking down temporary buildings. 
Human nature is so permanent in France that they can afford to be as 
temporary as they like with their buildings. We went to the long low 
certainly very very long temporary building that was put up every year 
for the independents. When after the war or just before, I forget, the 
independent was given permanent quarters in the big exposition build- 
ing, the Grand Palais, it became much less interesting. After all it is the 
adventure that counts. The long building was beautifully alight with 
Paris light. 

In earlier, still earlier days, in the days of Seurat, the independent had 
its exhibition in a building where the rain rained in. Indeed it was be- 
cause of this, that in hanging pictures in the rain, poor Seurat caught 
his fatal cold. Now there was no rain coming in, it was a lovely day and 
we felt very festive. When we got in we were indeed early as nearly as 
possible the first to be there. We went from one room to another and 


quite frankly we had no idea which of the pictures the Saturday evening 
crowd would have thought art and which were just the attempts of what 
in France are known as the Sunday painters, workingmen, hair-dressers 
and veterinaries and visionaries who only paint once a week when they 
do not have to work. I say we did not know but yes perhaps we did 
know. But not about the Rousseau, and there was an enormous Rousseau 
there which was the scandal of the show, it was a picture of the officials 
of the republic, Picasso now owns it, no that picture we could not know 
as going to be one of the great pictures, and that as Helene was to say, 
would come to be in the Louvre. There was also there if my memory is 
correct a strange picture by the same douanier Rousseau, a sort of apo- 
theosis of Guillaume Apollinaire with an aged Marie Laurencin behind 
him as a muse. That also I would not have recognised as a serious work 
of art. At that time of course I knew nothing about Marie Laurencin 
and Guillaume Apollinaire but there is a lot to tell about them later. 
Then we went on and saw a Matisse. Ah there we were beginning to 
feel at home. We knew a Matisse when we saw it, knew at once and en- 
joyed it and knew that it was great art and beautiful. It was a big figure 
of a woman lying in among some cactuses. A picture which was after 
the show to be at the rue de Fleurus. There one day the five year old 
little boy of the janitor who often used to visit Gertrude Stein who was 
fond of him, jumped into her arms as she was standing at the open door 
of the atelier and looking over her shoulder and seeing the picture cried 
out in rapture, oh la la what a beautiful body of a woman. Miss Stein 
used always to tell this story when the casual stranger in the aggressive 
way of the casual stranger said, looking at this picture, and what is that 
supposed to represent. 

In the same room as the Matisse, a little covered by a partition, was a 
hungarian version of the same picture by one Czobel whom I remem- 
bered to have seen at the rue de Fleurus, it was the happy independent 
way to put a violent follower opposite the violent but not quite as violent 

We went on and on, there were a great many rooms and a great many 
pictures in the rooms and finally we came to a middle room and there 
was a garden bench and as there were people coming in quite a few 
people we sat down on the bench to rest. 

We had been resting and looking at every body and it was indeed the 
vie de Boheme just as one had seen it in the opera and they were very 


wonderful to look at. Just then somebody behind us put a hand on our 
shoulders and burst out laughing. It was Gertrude Stein. You have 
seated yourselves admirably, she said. But why, we asked. Because right 
here in front of you is the whole story. We looked but we saw nothing 
except two big pictures that looked quite alike but not altogether alike. 
One is a Braque and one is a Derain, explained Gertrude Stein. They 
were strange pictures of strangely formed rather wooden blocked figures, 
one if I remember rightly a sort of man and women, the other three 
women. Well, she said still laughing. We were puzzled, we had seen 
so much strangeness we'did not know why these two were any stranger. 
She was quickly lost in an excited and voluble crowd. We recognised 
Pablo Picasso and Fernande, we thought we recognised many more, to 
be sure everybody seemed to be interested in our corner and we stayed, 
but we did not know why they were so especially interested. After a 
considerable interval Gertrude Stein came back again, this time evi- 
dently even more excited and amused. She leaned over us and said 
solemnly, do you want to take french lessons. We hesitated, why yes 
we could take french lessons. Well Fernande will give you french les- 
sons, go and find her and tell her how absolutely you are pining to take 
french lessons. But why should she give us french lessons, we asked. 
Because, well because she and Pablo have decided to separate forever. 
I suppose it has happened before but not since I have known them. You 
know Pablo says if you love a woman you give her money. Well now it 
is when you want to leave a woman you have to wait until you have 
enough money to give her. Vollard has just bought out his atelier and 
so he can afford to separate from her by giving her half. She wants to 
install herself in a room by herself and give french lessons, so that is how 
you come in. Well what has that to do with these two pictures, asked 
my ever curious friend. Nothing, said Gertrude Stein going off with a 
great shout of laughter. 

I will tell the whole story as I afterward learnt it but now I must find 
Fernande and propose to her to take french lessons from her. 

I wandered about and looked at the crowd, never had I imagined 
there could be so many kinds of men making and looking at pictures. 
In America, even in San Francisco, I had been accustomed to see women 
at picture shows and some men, but here there were men, men, men, 
sometimes women with them but more often three or four men with one 
woman, sometimes five or six men with two women. Later on I became 


accustomed to this proportion. In one of these groups of five or six men 
and two women I saw the Picassos, that is I saw Fernande with her 
characteristic gesture, one ringed forefinger straight in the air. As I 
afterwards found out she had the Napoleonic forefinger quite as long 
if not a shade longer than the middle finger, and this, whenever she was 
animated, which after all was not very often because Fernande was^in- 
dolent, always went straight up into the air. I waited not wishing to 
break into this group of which she at one end and Picasso at the other 
end were the absorbed centres but finally I summoned up courage to go 
forward and draw her attention and tell her of my desire. Oh yes, she 
said sweetly, Gertrude has told me of your desire, it would give me great 
pleasure to give you lessons, you and your friend, I will be the next few 
days very busy installing myself in my new apartment. Gertrude is 
coming to see me the end of the week, if you and your friend would 
accompany her we could then make all arrangements. Fernande spoke 
a very elegant french, some lapses of course into montmartrois that I 
found difficult to follow, but she had been educated to be a school- 
mistress, her voice was lovely and she was very very beautiful with a 
marvellous complexion. She was a big woman but not too big because 
she was indolent and she had the small round arms that give the charac- 
teristic beauty to all french women. It was rather a pity that short skirts 
ever came in because until then one never imagined the sturdy french 
legs of the average french woman, one thought only of the beauty of the 
small rounded arms. I agreed to Fernande's proposal and left her. 

On my way back to where my friend was sitting I became more ac- 
customed not so much to the pictures as to the people. I began to realise 
there was a certain uniformity of type. Many years after, that is just 
a few years ago, when Juan Gris whom we all loved very much died, 
(he was after Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein's dearest friend) I heard 
her say to Braque, she and he were standing together at the funeral, who 
are all these people, there are so many and they are so familiar and I do 
not know who any of them are. Oh, Braque replied, they are all the 
people you used to see at the vernissage of the independent and the 
autumn salon and you saw their faces twice a year, year after year, and 
that is the reason they are all so familiar. 

Gertrude Stein and I about ten days later went to Montmartre, I for 
the first time. I have never ceased to love it. We go there every now and 
then and I always have the same tender expectant feeling that I had then. 


It is a place where you were always standing and sometimes waiting, 
not for anything to happen, but just standing. The inhabitants of Mont- 
martre did not sit much, they mostly stood which was just as well as the 
chairs, the dining room chairs of France, did not tempt one to sit. So I 
went to Montmartre and I began my apprenticeship of standing. We 
first went to see Picasso and then we went to see Fernande. Picasso now 
never likes to go to Montmartre, he does not like to think about it much 
less talk about it. Even to Gertrude Stein he is hesitant about talking of 
it, there were things that at that time cut deeply into his Spanish pride 
and the end of his Montmartre life was bitterness and disillusion, and 
there is nothing more bitter than Spanish disillusion. 

But at this time he was in and of Montmartre and lived in the rue 

We went to the Odeon and there got into an omnibus, that is we 
mounted on top of an omnibus, the nice old horse-pulled omnibuses that 
went pretty quickly and steadily across Paris and up the hill to the place 
Blanche. There we got out and climbed a steep street lined with shops 
with things to eat, the rue Lepic, and then turning we went around a 
corner and climbed even more steeply in fact almost straight up and 
came to the rue Ravignan, now place Emile-Goudeau but otherwise 
unchanged, with its steps leading up to the little flat square with its few 
but tender little trees, a man carpentering in the corner of it, the last 
time I was there not very long ago there was still a man carpentering in 
a corner of it, and a little cafe just before you went up the steps where 
they all used to eat, it is still there, and to the left the low wooden build- 
ing of studios that is still there. 

We went up the couple of steps and through the open door passing 
on our left the studio in which later Juan Gris was to live out his martyr- 
dom but where then lived a certain Vaillant, a nondescript painter who 
was to lend his studio as a ladies dressing room at the famous banquet 
for Rousseau, and then we passed a steep flight of steps leading down 
where Max Jacob had a studio a little later, and we passed another steep 
little stairway which led to the studio where not long before a young 
fellow had committed suicide, Picasso painted one of the most wonder- 
ful of his early pictures of the friends gathered round the coffin, we 
passed all this to a larger door where Gertrude Stein knocked and Picasso 
opened the door and we went in. 

He was dressed in what the french call the singe or monkey costume, 


overalls made of blue jean or brown, I think his was blue and it is called 
a singe or monkey because being all of one piece with a belt, if the belt 
is not fastened, and it very often is not, it hangs down behind and so 
makes a monkey. His eyes were more wonderful than even I remem- 
bered, so full and so brown, and his hands so dark and delicate and alert. 
We went further in. There was a couch in one corner, a very small stove 
that did for cooking and heating in the other corner, some chairs, the 
large broken one Gertrude Stein sat in when she was painted and a 
general smell of dog and paint and there was a big dog there and Picasso 
moved her about from one place to another exactly as if the dog had 
been a large piece of furniture. He asked us to sit down but as all the 
chairs were full we all stood up and stood until we left. It was my first 
experience of standing but afterwards I found that they all stood that 
way for hours. Against the wall was an enormous picture, a strange 
picture of light and dark colours, that is all I can say, of a group, an 
enormous group and next to it another in a sort of a red brown, of three 
women, square and posturing, all of it rather frightening. Picasso and 
Gertrude Stein stood together talking. I stood back and looked. I cannot 
say I realised anything but I felt that there was something painful and 
beautiful there and oppressive but imprisoned. I heard Gertrude Stein 
say, and mine. Picasso thereupon brought out a smaller picture, a rather 
unfinished thing that could not finish, very pale almost white, two 
figures, they were all there but very unfinished and not finishable. 
Picasso said, but he will never accept it. Yes, I know, answered Gertrude 
Stein. But just the same it is the only one in which it is all there. Yes, I 
know, he replied and they fell silent. After that they continued a low 
toned conversation and then Miss Stein said, well we have to go, we are 
going to have tea with Fernande. Yes, I know, replied Picasso. How 
often do you see her, she said, he got very red and looked sheepish. I 
have never been there, he said resentfully. She chuckled, well anyway 
we are going there, she said, and Miss Toklas is going to have lessons in 
french. Ah the Miss Toklas, he said, with small feet like a Spanish 
woman and earrings like a gypsy and a father who is king of Poland 
like the Poniatowskis, of course she will take lessons. We all laughed 
and went to the door. There stood a very beautiful man, oh Agero, said 
Picasso, you know the ladies. He looks like a Greco, I said in english. 
Picasso caught the name, a false Greco, he said. Oh I forgot to give you 
these, said Gertrude Stein handing Picasso a package of newspapers, 


they will console you. He opened them up, they were the Sunday sup- 
plement of american papers, they were the Katzenjammer kids. Oh oui, 
Oh oui, he said, his face full of satisfaction, merci thanks Gertrude, and 
we left. 

We left then and continued to climb higher up the hill. What did you 
think of what you saw, asked Miss Stein. Well I did see something. 
Sure you did, she said, but did you see what it had to do with those two 
pictures you sat in front of so long at the vernissage. Only that Picassos 
were rather awful and the others were not. Sure, she said, as Pablo once 
remarked, when you make a thing, it is so complicated making it that 
it is bound to be ugly, but those that do it after you they don't have to 
worry about making it and they can make it pretty, and so everybody 
can like it when the others make it. 

We went on and turned down a little street and there was another 
little house and we asked for Mademoiselle Bellevallce and we were sent 
into a little corridor and we knocked and went into a moderate sized 
room in which was a very large bed and a piano and a little tea table 
and Fernande and two others. 

One of them was Alice Princet. She was rather a madonna like crea- 
ture, with large lovely eyes and charming hair. Fernande afterwards ex- 
plained that she was the daughter of a workingman and had the brutal 
thumbs that of course were a characteristic of workingmen. She had 
been, so Fernande explained, for seven years with Princet who was in 
the government employ and she had been faithful to him in the fashion 
of Montmartre, that is to say she had stuck to him through sickness and 
health but she had amused herself by the way. Now they were to be mar- 
ried. Princet had become the head of his small department in the gov- 
ernment service and it would be necessary for him to invite other heads 
of departments to his house and so of course he must regularise the re- 
lation. They were actually married a few months afterward and it was 
apropos of this marriage that Max Jacob made his famous remark, it is 
wonderful to long for a woman for seven years and to possess her at 
last. Picasso made the more practical one, why should they marry simply 
in order to divorce. This was a prophecy. 

No sooner were they married than Alice Princet met Derain and 
Derain met her. It was what the french call un coup de foudre, or love 
at first sight. They went quite mad about each other. Princet tried to 


bear it but they were married now and it was different. Beside he was 
angry for the first time in his life and in his anger he tore up Alice's first 
fur coat which she had gotten for the wedding. That settled the matter, 
and within six months after the marriage Alice left Princet never to 
return. She and Derain went off together and they have never separated 
since. I always liked Alice Derain. She had a certain wild quality that 
perhaps had to do with her brutal thumbs and was curiously in accord 
with her madonna face. 

The other woman was Germaine Pichot, entirely a different type. 
She was quiet and serious and Spanish, she had the square shoulders 
and the unseeing fixed eyes of a Spanish woman. She was very gentle. 
She was married to a Spanish painter Pichot, who was rather a won- 
derful creature, he was long and thin like one of those primitive Christs 
in Spanish churches and when he did a Spanish dance which he did later 
at the famous banquet to Rousseau, he was awe inspiringly religious. 

Germaine, so Fernande said, was the heroine of many a strange story, 
she had once taken a young man to the hospital, he had been injured in 
a fracas at a music hall and all his crowd had deserted him. Germaine 
quite naturally stood by and saw him through. She had many sisters, 
she and all of them had been born and bred in Montmartre and they 
were all of different fathers and married to different nationalities, even 
to turks and armenians. Germaine, much later was very ill for years and 
she always had around her a devoted coterie. They used to carry her in 
her armchair to the nearest cinema and they, and she in the armchair, saw 
the performance through. They did this regularly once a week. I imagine 
they are still doing it. 

The conversation around the tea table of Fernande was not lively, 
nobody had anything to say. It was a pleasure to meet, it was even an 
honour, but that was about all. Fernande complained a little that her 
charwoman had not adequately dusted and rinsed the tea things, and 
also that buying a bed and a piano on the instalment plan had elements 
of unpleasantness. Otherwise we really none of us had much to say. 

Finally she and I arranged about the french lessons, I was to pay fifty 
cents an hour and she was to come to see me two days hence and we were 
to begin. Just at the end of the visit they were more natural. Fernande 
asked Miss Stein if she had any of the comic supplements of the american 
papers left. Gertrude Stein replied that she had just left them with Pablo. 


Fernanda roused like a lioness defending her cubs. That is a brutality 
that I will never forgive him, she said. I met him on the street, he had 
a comic supplement in his hand, I asked him to give it to me to help me 
to distract myself and he brutally refused. It was a piece of cruelty that 
I will never forgive. I ask you, Gertrude, to give to me myself the next 
copies you have of the comic supplement. Gertrude Stein said, why cer- 
tainly with pleasure. 

As we went out she said to me, it is to be hoped that they will be to- 
gether again before the next comic supplements of the Katzenjammer 
kids come out because if I do not give them to Pablo he will be all upset 
and if I do Fernande will make an awful fuss. Well I suppose I will have 
to lose them or have my brother give them to Pabjo by mistake. 

Fernande came quite promptly to the appointment and we proceeded 
to our lesson. Of course to have a lesson in french one has to converse 
and Fernande had three subjects, hats, we had not much more to say 
about hats, perfumes, we had something to say about perfumes. Per- 
fumes were Fernande's really great extravagance, she was the scandal 
of Montmartre because she had once bought a bottle of perfume named 
Smoke and had paid eighty francs for it at that time sixteen dollars and 
it had no scent but such wonderful colour, like real bottled liquid smoke. 
Her third subject was the categories of furs. There were three categories 
of furs, there were first category, sables, second category ermine and 
chinchilla, third category martin fox and squirrel. It was the most sur- 
prising thing I had heard in Paris. I was surprised. Chinchilla second, 
squirrel called fur and no seal skin. 

Our only other conversation was the description and names of the dogs 
that were then fashionable. This was my subject and after I had de- 
scribed she always hesitated, ah yes, she would say illuminated, you wish 
to describe a little bclgian dog whose name is griffon. 

There we were, she was very beautiful but it was a little heavy and 
monotonous, so I suggested we should meet out of doors, at a tea place 
or take walks in Montmartre. That was better. She began to tell me 
things. I met Max Jacob. Fernande and he were very funny together. 
They felt themselves to be a courtly couple of the first empire, he being 
le vieux marquis kissing her hand and paying compliments and she the 
Empress Josephine receiving them. It was a caricature but a rather won- 
derful one. Then she told me about a mysterious horrible woman called 


Marie Laurencin who made noises like an animal and annoyed Picasso. 
I thought of her as a horrible old woman and was delighted when I met 
the young chic Marie who looked like a Clouet. Max Jacob read my 
horoscope. It was a great honour because he wrote it down. I did not 
realise it then but I have since and most of all very lately, as all the young 
gentlemen who nowadays so much admire Max are so astonished and 
impressed that he wrote mine down as he has always been supposed 
never to write them but just to say them off hand. Well anyway I have 
mine and it is written. 

Then she also told me a great many stories about Van Dongen and 
his dutch wife and dutch little girl. Van Dongen broke into notoriety 
by a portrait he did of Fernande. It was in that way that he created the 
type of almond eyes that were later so much the vogue. But Fernande's 
almond eyes were natural, for good or for bad everything was natural in 

Of course Van Dongen did not admit that this picture was a portrait 
of Fernande, although she had sat for it and there was in consequence 
much bitterness. Van Dongen in these days was poor, he had a dutch 
wife who was a vegetarian and they lived on spinach. Van Dongen fre- 
quently escaped from the spinach to a joint in Montmartre where the 
girls paid for his dinner and his drinks. 

The Van Dongen child was only four years old but terrific. Van 
Dongen used to do acrobatics with her and swing her around his head 
by a leg. When she hugged Picasso of whom she was very fond she used 
almost to destroy him, he had a great fear of her. 

There were many other tales of Germaine Pichot and the circus where 
she found her lovers and there were tales of all the past and present life 
of Montmartre. Fernande herself had one ideal. It was Evelyn Thaw 
the heroine of the moment. And Fernande adored her in the way a later 
generation adored Mary Pickford, she was so blonde, so pale, so nothing 
and Fernande would give a heavy sigh of admiration. 

The next time I saw Gertrude Stein she said to me suddenly, is 
Fernande wearing her earrings. I do not know, I said. Well notice, she 
said. The next time I saw Gertrude Stein I said, yes Fernande is wear- 
ing her earrings. Oh well, she said, there is nothing to be done yet, it's 
a nuisance because Pablo naturally having nobody in the studio cannot 
stay at home. In another week I was able to announce that Fernande was 


not wearing her earrings. Oh well it's alright then she has no more 
money left and it is all over, said Gertrude Stein. And it was. A week 
later I was dining with Fernande and Pablo at the rue de Fleurus, 

I gave Fernande a chinese gown from San Francisco and Pablo gave 
'me a lovely drawing. 

And now I will tell you how two americans happened to be in the 
heart of an art movement of which the outside world at that time knew 

3 Gertrude Stein in Paris-! 903-1 907 

During Gertrude Stein's last two years at the Medical School, Johns 
Hopkins, Baltimore, 1900-1903, her brother was living in Florence. 
There he heard of a painter named Cezanne and saw paintings by him 
owned by Charles Loeser. When he and his sister made their home in 
Paris the following year they went to Vollard's the only picture dealer 
who had Cezannes for sale, to look at them. 

Vollard was a huge dark man who lisped a little. His shop was on the 
rue Laffitte not far from the boulevard. Further along this short street 
was Durand-Ruel and still further on almost at the church of the 
Martyrs was Sagot the ex-clown. Higher up in Montmartre on the rue 
Victor-Masse was Mademoiselle Weill who sold a mixture of pictures, 
books and bric-a-brac and in entirely another part of Paris on the rue 
Faubourg-Saint-Honore was the ex-cafe keeper and photographer 
Druet. Also on the rue Laffitte was the confectioner Fouquet where one 
could console oneself with delicious honey cakes and nut candies and 
once in a while instead of a picture buy oneself strawberry jam in a glass 

The first visit to Vollard has left an indelible impression on Gertrude 
Stein. It was an incredible place. It did not look like a picture gallery. 
Inside there were a couple of canvases turned to the wall, in one corner 
was a small pile of big and little canvases thrown pell mell on top of one 
another, in the centre of the room stood a huge dark man glooming. 
This was Vollard cheerful. When he was really cheerless he put his huge 
frame against the glass door that led to the street, his arms above his 
head, his hands on each upper corner of the portal and gloomed darkly 
into the street. Nobody thought then of trying to come in. 

They asked to see Cezannes. He looked less gloomy and became quite 
polite. As they found out afterward Cezanne was the great romance of 
Vollard's life. The name Cezanne was to him a magic word. He had first 
learned about Cezanne from Pissarro the painter. Pissarro indeed was 



the man from whom all the early Cezanne lovers heard about Cezanne. 
Cezanne 'at that time was living gloomy and embittered at Aix-en- 
Provence. Pissarro told Vollard about him, told Fabry, a Florentine, who 
told Loeser, told Picabia, in fact told everybody who knew about 
Cezanne at that time. 

There were Cezannes to be seen at Vollard's. Later on Gertrude Stein 
wrote a poem called Vollard and Cezanne, and Henry McBride printed 
it in the New York Sun. This was the first fugitive piece of Gertrude 
Stein's to be so printed and it gave both her and Vollard a great deal of 
pleasure. Later on when Vollard wrote his book about Cezanne, Vollard 
at Gertrude Stein's suggestion sent a copy of the "book to Henry Mc- 
Bride. She told Vollard that a whole page of one of New York's big daily 
papers would be devoted to his book. He did not believe it possible, noth- 
ing like that had ever happened to anybody in Paris. It did happen and 
he was deeply moved and unspeakably content. But to return to that 
first visit. 

They told Monsieur Vollard they wanted to see some Cezanne land- 
scapes, they had been sent to him by Mr. Loeser of Florence. Oh yes, 
said Vollard looking quite cheerful and he began moving about the 
room, finally he disappeared behind a partition in the back and was 
heard heavily mounting the steps. After a quite long wait he came 
down again and had in his hand a tiny picture of an apple with most 
of the canvas unpainted. They all looked at this thoroughly, then they 
said, yes but you see what we wanted to see was a landscape. Ah yes, 
sighed Vollard and he looked even more cheerful, after a moment he 
again disappeared and this time came back with a painting of a back, 
it was a beautiful painting there is no doubt about that but the brother 
and sister were not yet up to a full appreciation of Cezanne nudes and 
so they returned to the attack. They wanted to see a landscape. This 
time after even a longer wait he came back with a very large canvas and 
a very little fragment of a landscape painted on it. Yes that was it, they 
said, a landscape but what they wanted was a smaller canvas but one all 
covered. They said, they thought they would like to see one like that. 
By this time the early winter evening of Paris was closing in and just 
at this moment a very aged charwoman came down the same back stairs, 
mumbled, bon soir monsieur et madame, and quietly went out of the 
door, after a moment another old charwoman came down the same 
stairs, murmured, bon soir messieurs et mesdames and went quietly put 


of the door* Gertrude Stein began to laugh and said to her brother, it 
is all nonsense, there is no Cezanne. Vollard goes upstairs and tells these 
old women what to paint and he does not understand us and they do 
not understand him and they paint something and he brings it down 
and it is a Cezanne. They both began to laugh uncontrollably. Then 
they recovered and once more explained about the landscape. They said 
what they wanted was one of those marvellously yellow sunny Aix land- 
scapes of which Loeser had several examples. Once more Vollard went 
off and this time he came back with a wonderful small green landscape. 
It was lovely, it covered all the canvas, it did not cost much and they 
bought it. Later on Vollard explained to every one that he had been 
visited by two crazy americans and they laughed and he had been much 
annoyed but gradually he found out that when they laughed most they 
usually bought something so of course he waited for them to laugh. 

From that time on they went to Vollard's all the time. They had soon 
the privilege of upsetting his piles of canvases and finding what they 
liked in the heap. They bought a tiny little Daumier, head of an old 
woman. They began to take an interest in Cezanne nudes and they 
finally bought two tiny canvases of nude groups. They found a very 
very small Manet painted in black and white with Forain in the fore- 
ground and bought it, they found two tiny little Renoirs. They fre- 
quently bought in twos because one of them usually liked one more than 
the other one did, and so the year wore on. In the spring Vollard an- 
nounced a show of Gauguin and they for the first time saw some 
Gauguins. They were rather awful but they finally liked them, and 
bought two Gauguins. Gertrude Stein liked his sun-flowers but not his 
figures and her brother preferred the figures. It sounds like a great deal 
now but in those days these things did not cost much. And so the winter 
went on. 

There were not a great many people in and out of Vollard's but once 
Gertrude Stein heard a conversation there that pleased her immensely. 
Duret was a well known figure in Paris. He was now a very old and a 
very handsome man. He had been a friend of Whistler, Whistler had 
painted him in evening clothes with a white opera cloak over his arm. 
He was at Vollard's talking to a group of younger men and one of them 
Roussel, one of the Vuillard, Bonnard, the post impressionist group, 
said something complainingly about the lack of recognition of himself 
and his friends, that they were not even allowed to show in the salon. 


Duret looked, at him kindly, my young friend, he said, there are two 
kinds of art, never forget this, there is art and there is official art. How 
can you, my poor young friend, hope to be official art. Just look at your- 
self. Supposing an important personage came to France, and wanted to 
meet the representative painters and have his portrait painted. My dear 
young friend, just look at yourself, the very sight of you would terrify 
him. You are a nice young man, gentle and intelligent, but to the im- 
portant personage you would not seem so, you would be terrible. No 
they need as representative painter a medium sized, slightly stout man, 
not too well dressed but dressed in the fashion of his class, neither bald 
or well brushed hair and a respectful bow with it. You can see that you 
would not do. So never say another word about official recognition, or if 
you do look in the mirror and think of important personages. No, my 
dear young friend there is art and there is official art, there always has 
been and there always will be. 

Before the winter was over, having gone so far Gertrude Stein and 
her brother decided to go further, they decided to buy a big Cezanne 
and then they would stop. After that they would be reasonable. They 
convinced their elder brother that this last outlay was necessary, and it 
was necessary as will soon be evident. They told Vollard that they 
wanted to buy a Cezanne portrait. In those days practically no big 
Cezanne portraits had been sold. Vollard owned almost all of them. He 
was enormously pleased with this decision. They now were introduced 
into the room above the steps behind the partition where Gertrude Stein 
had been sure the old charwoman painted the Cezannes and there they 
spent days deciding which portrait they would have. There were about 
eight to choose from and the decision was difficult. They had often to go 
and refresh themselves with honey cakes at Fouquet's. Finally they nar- 
rowed the choice down to two, a portrait of a man and a portrait of a 
woman, but this time they could not afford to buy twos and finally they 
chose the portrait of the woman. 

Vollard said of course ordinarily a portrait of a woman always is more 
expensive than a portrait of a man but, said he looking at the picture 
very carefully, I suppose with Cezanne it does not make any difference. 
They put it in a cab and they went home with it. It was this picture that 
Alfy Maurer used to explain was finished and that you could tell that it 
was finished because it had a frame. 


It was an important purchase because in looking and looking at this 
picture Gertrude Stein wrote Three Lives. 

She had begun not long before as an exercise in literature to translate 
Flaubert's Trois Contes and then she had this Cezanne and she looked 
at it and under its stimulus she wrote Three Lives. 

The next thing that happened was in the autumn. It was the first year 
of the autumn salon, the first autumn salon that had ever existed in Paris 
and they, very eager and. excited, went to see it. There they found 
Matisse's picture afterwards known as La Femme au Chapeau. 

This first autumn salon was a step in official recognition of the out- 
laws of the independent salon. Their pictures were to be shown in the 
Petit Palais opposite the Grand Palais where the great spring salon was 
held. That is, those outlaws were to be shown there who had succeeded 
enough so that they began to be sold in important picture shops. These 
in collaboration with some rebels from the old salons had created the 
autumn salon. 

The show had a great deal of freshness and was not alarming. There 
were a number of attractive pictures but there was one that was not at- 
tractive. It infuriated the public, they tried to scratch off the paint. 

Gertrude Stein liked that picture, it was a portrait of a woman with a 
long face and a fan. It was very strange in its colour and in its anatomy. 
She said she wanted to buy it. Her brother had in the meantime found 
a white-clothed woman on a green lawn and he wanted to buy it. So as 
usual they decided to buy two and they went to the office of the secretary 
of the salon to find out about prices. They had never been in the little 
room of a secretary of a salon and it was very exciting. The secretary 
looked up the prices in his catalogue. Gertrude Stein has forgotten how 
much and even whose it was, the white dress and dog on the green grass, 
but the Matisse was five hundred francs. The secretary explained that 
of course one never paid what the artist asked, one suggested a price. 
They asked what price they should suggest. He asked them what they 
were willing to pay. They said they did not know. He suggested that 
they offer four hundred and he would let them know. They agreed and 

The next day they received word from the secretary that Monsieur 
Matisse had refused to accept the offer and what did they want to do. 
They decided to go over to the salon and look at the picture again. They 


did. People were roaring with laughter at the picture and scratching 
at it. Gertrude Stein could not understand why, the picture seemed to 
her perfectly natural. The Cezanne portrait had not seemed natural, it 
had taken her some time to feel that it was natural but this picture by 
Matisse seemed perfectly natural and she could not understand why it 
infuriated everybody. Her brother was less attracted but all the same he 
agreed and they bought it. She then went back to look at it and it upset 
her to see them all mocking at it. It bothered her and angered her be- 
cause she did not understand why because to her it was so alright, just 
as later she did not understand why since the writing was all so' clear 
and natural they mocked at and were enraged by her work. 

And so this was the story of the buying of La Femme au Chapeau by 
the buyers and now for the story from the seller's point of view as told 
some months after by Monsieur and Madame Matisse. Shortly after the 
purchase of the picture they all asked to meet each other. Whether 
Matisse wrote and asked or whether they wrote and asked Gertrude 
Stein does not remember. Anyway in no time they were knowing each 
other and knowing each other very well. 

The Matisses lived on the quay just off the boulevard Saint-Michel. 
They were on the top floor in a small three-roomed apartment with a 
lovely view over Notre Dame and the river. Matisse painted it in winter. 
You went up and up the steps. In those days you were always going up 
stairs and down stairs. Mildred Aldrich had a distressing way of drop- 
ping her key down the middle of the stairs where an elevator might 
have been, in calling out goodbye to some one below, from her sixth 
story, and then you or she had to go all the way up or all the way down 
again. To be sure she would often call out, never mind, I am bursting 
open my door. Only americans did that. The keys were heavy and you 
either forgot them or dropped them. Sayen at the end of a Paris summer 
when he was congratulated on looking so well and sun-burned, said, yes 
it comes from going up and down stairs. 

Madame Matisse was an admirable housekeeper. Her place was small 
but immaculate. She kept the house in order, she was an excellent cook 
and provider, she posed for all of Matisse's pictures. It was she who was 
La Femme au Chapeau, lady with a hat. She had kept a little millinery 
shop to keep them going in their poorest days. She was a very straight 
dark woman with a long face and a firm large loosely hung mouth like 
a horse. She had an abundance of dark hair. Gertrude Stein always liked 


the way she pinned her hat to her head and Matisse once made a draw- 
ing of his wife making this characteristic gesture and gave it & Miss 
Stein. She always wore black. She always placed a large black hat-pin 
well in the middle of the hat and the middle of the top of her head and 
then with a large firm gesture, down it came. They had with them a 
daughter of Matisse, a daughter he had had before his marriage and 
who had had diphtheria and had had to have an operation and for many 
years had to wear a black ribbon around her throat with a silver button. 
This Matisse put into many of his pictures. The girl was exactly like her 
father and Madame Matisse, as she once explained in her melodramatic 
simple way, did more than her duty by this child because having read 
in her youth a novel in which the heroine had done so and been conse- 
quently much loved all her life, had decided to do the same. She herself 
had had two boys but they were neither of them at that time living with 
them. The younger Pierre was in the south of France on the borders of 
Spain with Madame Matisse's father and mother, and the elder Jean 
with Monsieur Matisse's father and mother in the north of France on 
the borders of Belgium. 

Matisse had an astonishing virility that always gave one an extraor- 
dinary pleasure when one had not seen him for some time. Less the first 
time of seeing him than later. And one did not lose the pleasure of this 
virility all the time he was with one. But there was not much feeling 
of life in this virility. Madame Matisse was very different, there was a 
very profound feeling of life in her for any one who knew hef . 

Matisse had at this time a small Cezanne and a small Gauguin and 
he said he needed them both. The Cezanne had been bought with his^ 
wife's marriage portion, the Gauguin with the ring which was the only 
jewel she had ever owned. And they were happy because he needed these 
two pictures. The Cezanne was a picture of bathers and a tent, the 
Gauguin the head of a boy. Later on in life when Matisse became a very 
rich man, he kept on buying pictures. He said he knew about pictures 
and had confidence in them and he did not know about other things. 
And so for his own pleasure and as the best legacy to leave his children 
he bought Cezannes. Picasso also later when he became rich bought pic- 
tures but they were his own. He too believed in pictures and wants to 
leave the best legacy he can to his son and so keeps and buys his own. 

The Matisses had had a hard time. Matisse had come to Paris as a 
young man to study pharmacy. His people were small grain merchants 


in the north qf France. He had become interested in painting, had begun 
copying the Poussins at the Louvre and become a painter fairly without 
the consent of his people who however continued to allow him the very 
small monthly sum he had had as a student. His daughter was born at 
this time and this further complicated his life. He had at first a certain 
amount of success. He married. Under the influence of the paintings of 
Poussin and Chardin he had painted still life pictures that had consider- 
able success at the Champ-de-Mars salon, one of the two big spring 
salons. And then he fell under the influence of Cezanne, and then under 
the influence of negro sculpture. All this developed the Matisse of the 
period of La Femme au Chapeau. The year after his very considerable 
success at the salon he spent the winter painting a very large picture of 
a woman setting a table and on the table was a magnificent dish of fruit. 
It had strained the resources of the Matisse family to buy this fruit, fruit 
was horribly dear in Paris in those days, even ordinary fruit, imagine 
how much dearer was this very extraordinary fruit and it had to keep 
until the picture was completed and the picture was going to take a 
long time. In order to keep it as long as possible they kept the room as 
cold as posible, and that under the roof and in a Paris winter was not 
difficult, and Matisse painted in an overcoat and gloves and he painted 
at it all winter. It was finished at last and sent to the salon where the 
year before Matisse had had considerable success, and there it was re- 
fused. And now Matisse's serious troubles began, his daughter was very 
ill, he was in an agonising mental struggle concerning his work, and he 
had lost all posibility of showing his pictures. He no longer painted at 
home but in an atelier. It was cheaper so. Every morning he painted, 
every afternoon he worked at his sculpture, late every afternoon he drew 
in the sketch classes from the nude, and every evening he played his 
violin. These were very dark days and he was very despairful. His wife 
opened a small millinery shop and they managed to live. The two boys 
were sent away to the country to his and her people and they continued 
to live. The only encouragement came in the atelier where he worked 
and where a crowd of young men began to gather around him and be 
influenced by him. Among these the best known at that time was 
Manguin, the best known now Derain. Derain was a very young man 
at that time, he enormously admired Matisse, he went away to the coun- 
try with them to Collioure near Perpignan, and he was a great comfort 
to them all. He began to paint landscapes outlining his trees with red 


and he had a sense of space that was quite his own and which first 
showed itself in a landscape of a cart going up a road bordered with trees 
lined in red. His paintings were coming to be known at the independent. 

Matisse worked every day and every day and every day and he worked 
terribly hard. Once Vollard came to see him. Matisse used to love to tell 
the story. I have often heard him tell it. Vollard came and said he wanted 
to see the big picture which had been refused. Matisse showed it to him. 
He did not look at it. He talked to Madame Matisse and mostly about 
cooking, he liked cooking and eating as a frenchman should, and so did 
she. Matisse and Madame Matisse were both getting very nervous al- 
though she did not show it. And this door, said Vollard interestedly to 
Matisse, where does that lead to, does that lead into a court or does that 
lead on to a stairway. Into a court, said Matisse. Ah yes, said Vollard. 
And then he left. 

The Matisses spent days discussing whether there was anything sym- 
bolic in Vollard's question or was it idle curiosity. Vollard never had 
any idle curiosity, he always wanted to know what everybody thought 
of everything because in that way he found out what he himself thought. 
This was very well known and therefore the Matisses asked each other 
and all their friends, why did he ask that question about that door. Well 
at any rate within the year he had bought the picture at a very low price 
but he bought it, and he put it away and nobody saw it, and that was 
the end of that. 

From this time on things went neither better nor worse for Matisse 
and he was discouraged and aggressive. Then came the first autumn 
salon and he was asked to exhibit and he sent La Femme au Chapeau and 
it was hung. It was derided and attacked and it was sold. 

Matisse was at this time about thirty-five years old, he was de- 
pressed. Having gone to the opening day of the salon and heard what 
was said of his picture and seen what they were trying to do to it he 
never went again. His wife went alone. He stayed at home and was 
unhappy. This is the way Madame Matisse used to tell the story. 

Then a note came from the secretary of the salon saying that there had 
been an offer made for the picture, an offer of four hundred francs. 
Matisse was painting Madame Matisse as a gypsy holding a guitar. This 
guitar had already had a history. Madame Matisse was very fond of tell- 
ing the story. She had a great deal to do and she posed beside and she 
was very healthy and sleepy. One day she was posing, he was painting, 


she began to nod and as she nodded the guitar made noises. Stop it, said 
Matisse, wake up. She woke up, he painted, she nodded and the guitar 
made noises. Stop it, said Matisse, wake up. She woke up and then in 
a little while she nodded again the guitar made even more noises. Matisse 
furious seized the guitar and broke it. And added Madame Matisse rue- 
fully, we were very hard up then and we had to have it mended so he 
could go on with the picture. She was holding this same mended guitar 
and posing when the note from the secretary of the autumn salon came. 
Matisse was joyful, of course I will accept, said Matisse. Oh no, said 
Madame Matisse, if those people (ces gens) are interested enough to 
make an offer they are interested enough to pay the price you asked, and 
she added, the difference would make winter clothes'for Margot. Matisse 
hesitated but was finally convinced and they sent a note saying he wanted 
his price. Nothing happened and Matisse was in a terrible state and very 
reproachful and then in a day or two when Madame Matisse was once 
more posing with the guitar and Matisse was painting, Margot brought 
them a little blue telegram. Matisse opened it and he made a grimace. 
Madame Matisse was terrified, she thought the worst had happened. 
The guitar fell. What is it, she said. They have bought it, he said. Why 
do you make such a face of agony and frighten me so and perhaps break 
the guitar, she said. I was winking at you, he said, to tell you, because 
I was so moved I could not speak. 

And so, Madame Matisse used to end up the story triumphantly, you 
see it was I, and I was right to insist upon the original price, and 
Mademoiselle Gertrude, who insisted upon buying it, who arranged the 
whole matter. 

The friendship with the Matisses grew apace. Matisse at that time was 
at work at his first big decoration, Le Bonheur de Vivre. He was making 
small and larger and very large studies for it. It was in this picture that 
Matisse first clearly realised his intention of deforming the drawing of 
the human body in order to harmonise and intensify the colour values 
of all the simple colours mixed only with white. He used his distorted 
drawing as a dissonance is used in music or as vinegar or lemons are 
used in cooking or egg shells in coffee to clarify. I do inevitably take my 
comparisons from the kitchen because I like food and cooking and know 
something about it. However this was the idea. Cezanne had come to his 
unfinishedness and distortion of necessity, Matisse did it by intention. 

Little by little people began to come to the rue de Fleurus to see the 


Matisses and the Cezannes, Matisse brought people, everybody brought 
somebody, and they came at any time and it began to be a nuisance, and 
it was in this way that Saturday evenings began. It was also at this time 
that Gertrude Stein got into the habit of writing at night. It was only 
after eleven o'clock that she could be sure that no one would knock at 
the studio door. She was at that time planning her long book, The Mak- 
ing of Americans, she was struggling with her sentences, those long 
sentences that had to be so exactly carried out. Sentences not only words 
but sentences and always sentences have been Gertrude Stein's life long 
passion. And so she had then and indeed it lasted pretty well to the war, 
which broke down so many habits, she had then the habit of beginning 
her work at eleven o'clock at night and working until the dawn. She 
said she always tried to stop before the dawn was too clear and the birds 
were too lively because it is a disagreeable sensation to go to bed then. 
There were birds in, many trees behind high walls in those days, now 
there are fewer. But often the birds and the dawn caught her and she 
stood in the court waiting to get used to it before she went to bed. She 
had the habit then of sleeping until noon and the beating of the rugs 
into the court, because everybody did that in those days, even her house- 
hold did, was one of her most poignant irritations. 

So the Saturday evenings began. 

Gertrude Stein and her brother were often at the Matisses and the 
Matisses were constantly with them. Madame Matisse occasionally gave 
them a lunch, this happened most often when some relation sent the 
Matisses a hare. Jugged hare prepared by Madame Matisse in the fash- 
ion of Perpignan was something quite apart. They also had extremely 
good wine, a little heavy, but excellent. They also had a sort of Madeira 
called Roncio which was very good indeed. Maillol the sculptor came 
from the same part of France as Madame Matisse and once when I met 
him at Jo Davidson's, many years later, he told me about all these wines. 
He then told me how he had lived well in his student days in Paris for 
fifty francs a month. To be sure, he said, the family sent me homemade 
bread every week and when' I came I brought enough wine with me to 
last a year and I sent my washing home every month. 

Derain was present at one of these lunches in those early days. He 
and Gertrude Stein disagreed violently. They discussed philosophy, he 
basing his ideas on having read the second part of Faust in a french 
translation while he was doing his military service. They never became 


friends. Gertrude Stein was never interested in his work. He had a sense 
of space but for her his pictures had neither life nor depth nor solidity. 
They rarely saw each other after. Derain at that time was constantly 
with the Matisses and was of all Matisse's friends the one Madame 
Matisse liked the best. 

It was about this time that Gertrude Stein's brother happened one 
day to find the picture gallery of Sagot, an ex-circus clown who had a 
picture shop further up the rue Laffitte. Here he, Gertrude Stein's 
brother, found the paintings of two young Spaniards, one, whose name 
everybody has forgotten, the other one, Picasso. The work of both of 
them interested him and he bought a water colour by the forgotten one, 
a cafe scene. Sagot also sent him to a little furniture store where there 
were some paintings being shown by Picasso. Gertrude Stein's brother 
was interested and wanted to buy one and asked the price but the price 
asked was almost as expensive as Cezanne. He went back to Sagot and 
told him. Sagot laughed. He said, that is alright, come back in a few 
days and I will have a big one. In a few days he did have a big one and 
it was very cheap. When Gertrude Stein and Picasso tell about those 
days they are not always in agreement as to what happened but I think 
in this case they agree that the price asked was a hundred and fifty 
francs. The picture was the now well known painting of a nude girl 
with a basket of red flowers. 

Gertrude Stein did not like the picture, she found something rather 
appalling in the drawing of the legs and feet, something that repelled 
and shocked her. She and her brother almost quarrelled about this pic- 
ture. He wanted it and she did not want it in the house. Sagot gathering 
a little of the discussion said, but that is alright if you do not like the 
legs and feet it is very easy to guillotine her and only take the head. No 
that would not do, everybody agreed, and nothing was decided. 

Gertrude Stein and her brother continued to be very divided in this 
matter and they were very angry with each other. Finally it was agreed 
that since he, the brother, wanted it so badly they would buy it, and in 
this way the first Picasso was brought into the rue de Fleurus. 

It was just about this time that Raymond Duncan, the brother of 
Isadora, rented an atelier in the rue de Fleurus. Raymond had just 
come back from his first trip to Greece and had brought back with him 
a greek girl and greek clothes. Raymond had known Gertrude Stein's 
elder brother and his wife in San Francisco. At that time Raymond was 


acting as advance agent for Emma Nevada who had also with her 
Pablo Casals the violincellist, at that time quite unknown. 

The Duncan family had been then at the Omar Khayam stage, they 
had not yet gone greek. They had after that gone italian renaissance, 
but now Raymond had gone completely greek and this included a greek 
girl. Isadora lost interest in him, she found the girl too modern a greek. 
At any rate Raymond was at this time without any money at all and his 
wife was enceinte. Gertrude Stein gave him coal and a chair for Penel- 
ope to sit in, the rest sat on packing cases. They had another friend who 
helped them, Kathleen Bruce, a very beautiful, very athletic English 
girl, a kind of sculptress, she later married and became the widow of the 
discoverer of the South Pole, Scott. She had at that time no money to 
speak of either and she used to bring a half portion of her dinner every 
evening for Penelope. Finally Penelope had her baby, it was named Ray- 
mond because when Gertrude Stein's brother and Raymond Duncan 
went to register it they had not thought of a name. Now he is against 
his will called Menalkas but he might be gratified if he knew that legally 
he is Raymond. However that is another matter. 

Kathleen Bruce was a sculptress and she was learning to model figures 
of children and she asked to do a figure of Gertrude Stein's nephew. 
Gertrude Stein and her nephew went to Kathleen Bruce's studio. There 
they, one afternoon, met H. P. Roche. Roche was one of those characters 
that are always to be found in Paris. He was a very earnest, very noble, 
devoted, very faithful and very enthusiastic man who was a general 
introducer. He knew everybody, he really knew them and he could in- 
troduce anybody to anybody. He was going to be a writer. He was tall 
and red-headed and he never said anything but good good excellent 
and he lived with his mother and his grandmother. He had done a 
great many things, he had gone to the austrian mountains with the aus-r 
trians, he had gone to Germany with the germans and he had gone to 
Hungary with hungarians and he had gone to England with the eng- 
lish. He had not gone to Russia although he had been in Paris with 
russians. As Picasso always said of him, Roche is very nice but he is only 
a translation. 

Later he .was often at 27 rue de Fleurus with various nationalities and 
Gertrude Stein rather liked him. She always said of him he is so faithful, 
perhaps one need never see him again but one knows that somewhere 
Roche is faithful. He did give her one delightful sensation in the very 


early days of their acquaintance. Three Lives, Gertrude Stein's first book 
was just then being written and Roche who could read english was very 
impressed by it. One day Gertrude Stein was saying something about 
herself and Roche said good good excellent that is very important for 
your biography. She was terribly touched, it was the first time that she 
really realised that some time she would have a biography. It is quite 
true that although she has not seen him for years somewhere Roche is 
probably perfectly faithful. 

But to come back to Roche at Kathleen Bruce's studio. They all talked 
about one thing and another and Gertrude Stein happened to mention 
that they had just bought a picture from Sagot by a young Spaniard 
named Picasso. Good good excellent, said Roche, he is a very interesting 
young fellow, I know him. Oh do you, said Gertrude Stein, well enough 
to take somebody to see him. Why certainly, said Roche. Very well, said 
Gertrude Stein, my brother I know is very anxious to make his acquaint- 
ance. And there and then the appointment was made and shortly after 
Roche and Gertrude Stein's brother went to see Picasso. 

It was only a very short time after this that Picasso began the portrait 
of Gertrude Stein, now so widely known, but just how that came about 
is a little vague in everybody's mind. I have heard Picasso and Gertrude 
Stein talk about it often and they neither of them can remember. They 
can remember the first time that Picasso dined at the rue de Fleurus and 
they can remember the first time Gertrude Stein posed for her portrait 
at rue Ravignan but in between there is a blank. How it came about 
they do not know. Picasso had never had anybody pose for him since he 
was sixteen years old, he was then twenty-four and Gertrude Stein had 
never thought of having her portrait painted, and they do not either of 
them know how it came about. Anyway it did and she posed to him for 
this portrait ninety times and a great deal happened during that time. 
To go back to all the first times. 

Picasso and Fernande came to dinner, Picasso in those days was, what 
a dear friend and schoolmate of mine, Nellie Jacot, called, a good-look- 
ing bootblack. He was thin dark, alive with big pools of eyes and a 
violent but not rough way. He was sitting next to Gertrude Stein at 
dinner and she took up a piece of bread. This, said Picasso, snatching it 
back with violence, this piece of bread is mine. She laughed and he 
looked sheepish. That was the beginning of their intimacy. 

That evening Gertrude Stein's brother took out portfolio after port- 


folio of Japanese prints to show Picasso, Gertrude Stein's brother was 
fond of Japanese prints. Picasso solemnly and obediently looked at print 
after print and listened to the descriptions. He said under his breath to 
Gertrude Stein, he is very nice, your brother, but like all americans, like 
Haviland, he shows you Japanese prints. Moi j'aime pas 93, no I don't 
care for it. As I say Gertrude Stein and Pablo Picasso immediately 
understood each other. 

Then there was the first time of posing. The atelier of Picasso I have 
already described. In those days there was even more disorder, more 
coming and going, more red-hot fire in the stove, more cooking and 
more interruptions. There was a large broken armchair where Gertrude 
Stein posed. There was a couch where everybody sat and slept. There 
was a little kitchen chair upon which Picasso sat to paint, there was a 
large easel and there were many very large canvases. It was at the 
height of the end of the Harlequin period when the canvases were 
enormous, the figures also, and the groups. 

There was a little fox terrier there that had something the matter 
with it and had been and was again about to be taken to the veterinary. 
No frenchman or frenchwoman is so poor or so careless or so avaricious 
but that they can and do constantly take their pet to the vet. 

Fernande was as always, very large, very beautiful and very gracious. 
She offered to read La Fontaine's stories aloud to amuse Gertrude Stein 
while Gertrude Stein posed. She took her pose, Picasso sat very tight on 
his chair and very close to his canvas and on a very small palette which 
was of a uniform brown grey colour, mixed some more brown grey and 
the painting .began. This was the first of some eighty or ninety sittings. 

Toward the end of the afternoon Gertrude Stein's two brothers and 
her sister-in-law and Andrew Green came to see. They were all excited 
at the beauty of the sketch and Andrew Green begged and begged that 
it should be left as it was. But Picasso shook his head and said, non. 

It is too bad but in those days no one thought of taking a photograph 
of the picture as it was then and of course no one of the group that saw 
it then remembers at all what it looked like any more than do Picasso 
or Gertrude Stein. 

Andrew Green, none of them knew how they had met Andrew Green, 
he was the great-nephew of Andrew Green known as the father of 
Greater New York. He had been born and reared in Chicago but he was 
a typical tall gaunt new englander, blond and gentle. He had a prodi- 


gious memory and could recite all of Milton's Paradise Lost by heart 
and also all the translations of chinese poems of which Gertrude Stein 
was very fond. He had been in China and he was later to live perma- 
nently in the South Sea islands after he finally inherited quite a fortune 
from his great-uncle who was fond of Milton's Paradise Lost. He had a 
passion for oriental stuffs. He adored as he said a simple centre and a 
continuous design. He loved pictures in museums and he hated every- 
thing modern. Once when during the family's absence he had stayed at 
the rue de Fleurus for a month, he had outraged Helene's feelings by 
having his bed-sheets changed every day and covering all the pictures 
with cashmere shawls. He said the pictures were very restful, he could 
not deny that, but he could not bear it. He said that after the month was 
over that he had of course never come to like the new pictures but the 
worst of it was that not liking them he had lost his taste for the old 
and he never again in his life could go to any museum or look at any 
picture. He was tremendously impressed by Fernande's beauty. He was 
indeed quite overcome. I would, he said to Gertrude Stein, if I could 
talk french, I would make love to her and take her away from that little 
Picasso. Do you make love with words, laughed Gertrude Stein. He 
went away before I came to Paris and he came back eighteen years later 
and he was very dull. 

This year was comparatively a quiet one. The Matisses were in the 
South of France all winter, at Collioure on the Mediterranean coast not 
far from Perpignan, where Madame Matisse's people lived. The Ray- 
mond Duncans had disappeared after having been joined first by a 
sister of Penelope who was a little actress and was very far from being 
dressed greek, she was as nearly as she possibly could be a little Parisian. 
She had accompanying her a very large dark greek cousin. He came in 
to see Gertrude Stein and he looked around and he announced, I am 
greek, that is the same as saying that I have perfect taste and I do not 
care for any of these pictures. Very shortly Raymond, his wife and baby, 
the sister-in-law and the greek cousin disappeared out of the court at 
27 due de Fleurus and were succeeded by a german lady. 

This german lady was the niece and god-daughter of german field- 
marshals and her brother was a captin in the germany navy. Her mother 
was english and she herself had played the harp at the bavarian court. 
She was very amusing and had some strange friends, both english and 
french. She was a sculptress and she made a typical german sculpture of 


little Roger, the concierge's boy. She made three heads of him, one 
laughing, one crying and one sticking out his tongue, all three together 
on one pedestal. She sold this piece to the royal museum at Potsdam. 
The concierge during the war often wept at the thought of her Roger 
being there, sculptured, in the museum at Potsdam. She invented clothes 
that could be worn inside out and taken to pieces and be made long or 
short and she showed these to everybody with great pride. She had as 
an instructor in painting a weird looking frenchman one who looked 
exactly like the pictures of Huckleberry Finn's father. She explained 
that she employed him out of charity, he had won a gold medal at the 
salon in his youth and after that had had no success. She also said that 
she never employed a servant of the servant class. She said that decayed 
gentlewomen were more appetising and more efficient and she always 
had some widow of some army officer or functionary sewing or posing 
for her. She had an austrian maid for a while who cooked perfectly 
delicious austrian pastry but she did not keep her long. She was in short 
very amusing and she and Gertrude Stein used to talk to each other in 
the court. She always wanted to know what Gertrude Stein thought of 
everybody who came in and out. She wanted to know if she came to her 
conclusions by deduction, observation, imagination or analysis. She was 
amusing and then she disappeared and nobody thought anything about 
her until the war came and then everybody wondered if after all there 
had not been something sinister about this german woman's life in 

Practically every afternoon Gertrude Stein went to Montmartre, posed 
and then later wandered down the hill usually walking across Paris to 
the rue de Flcurus. She then formed the habit which has never left her 
of walking around Paris, now accompanied by the dog, in those days 
alone. And Saturday evenings the Picassos walked home with her and 
dined and then there was Saturday evening. 

During these long poses and these long walks Gertrude Stein medi- 
tated and made sentences. She was then in the middle of her negro story 
Melanctha Herbert, the second story of Three Lives and the poignant 
incidents that she wove into the life of Melanctha were often these she 
noticed in walking down the hill from the rue Ravignan. 

It was at that time that the hungarians began their pilgrimages to 
the rue de Fleurus. There were strange groups of americans then, 
Picasso unaccustomed to the vipginal quality of these young men and 


women used to say of them, ils sont pas des hommes, ils sont pas des 
femmes, ils sont des americains. They are not men, they are not women, 
they are americans. Once there was a Bryn Mawr woman there, wife of 
a well known portrait painter, who was very tall and beautiful and hav- 
ing once fallen on her head had a strange vacant expression. Her, he 
approved of, and used to call the Empress. There was a type of amer- 
ican art student, male, that used very much to afflict him, he used to say 
no it is not he who will make the future glory of America. He had a 
characteristic reaction when he saw the first photograph of a sky-scraper. 
Good God, he said, imagine the pangs of jealousy a lover would have 
while his beloved came up all those flights of stairs to his top story studio. 

It was at this time that a Maurice Denis, a Toulouse-Lautrec and many 
enormous Picassos were added to the collectio'n. It was at this time also 
that the acquaintance and friendship with the Vallotons began. 

Vollard once said when he was asked about a certain painter's picture, 
oh $a c'est un Cezanne pour les pauvres, that is a Cezanne for the poor 
collector. Well Valloton was a Manet for the impecunious. His big nude 
had all the hardness, the stillness and none of the quality of the Olympe 
of Manet and his portraits had the aridity but none of the elegance of 
David. And further he had the misfortune of having married the sister 
of an important picture-dealer. He was very happy with his wife and 
she was a very charming woman but then there were the weekly family 
reunions, and there was also the wealth of his wife and the violence of 
his step-sons. He was a gentle soul, Valloton, with a keen wit and a 
great deal of ambition but a feeling of impotence, the result of being the 
brother-in-law of picture dealers. However for a time his pictures were 
very interesting. He asked Gertrude Stein to pose for him. She did the 
following year. She had come to like posing, the long still hours followed 
by a long dark walk intensified the concentration with which she was 
creating her sentences. The sentences of which Marcel Brion, the french 
critic has written, by exactitude, austerity, absence of variety in light and 
shade, by refusal of the use of the subconscious Gertrude Stein achieves 
a symmetry which has a close analogy to the symmetry of the musical 
fugue of Bach. 

She often described the strange sensation she had as a result of the 
way in which Valloton painted. He was not at that time a young man 
as painters go, he had already had considerable recognition as a painter 
in the Paris exposition of 1900. When he painted a portrait he made a 


crayon sketch and then began painting at the top of the canvas straight 
across. Gertrude Stein said it was like pulling down a curtain as slowly 
moving as one of his swiss glaciers. Slowly he pulled the curtain down 
and by the time he was at the bottom of the canvas, there you were. 
The whole operation took about two weeks and then he gave the canvas 
to you. First however he exhibited it in the autumn salon and it had con- 
siderable notice and everybody was pleased. 

Everybody went to the Cirque Medrano once a week, at least, and 
usually everybody went on the same evening. There the clowns had 
commenced dressing up in misfit clothes instead of the old classic cos- 
tume and these clothes later so well known on Charlie Chaplin were the 
delight of Picasso and all his friends in Montmartre. There also were 
the english jockeys and their costumes made the mode that all Mont- 
martre followed. Not very long ago somebody was talking about how 
well the young painters of to-day dressed and what a pity it was that 
they spent money in that way. Picasso laughed. I am quite certain, he 
said, they pay less for the fashionable complet, their suits of clothes, 
than we did for our rough and common ones. You have no idea how 
hard it was and expensive it was in those days to find english tweed or 
a french imitation that would look rough and dirty enough. And it was 
quite true one way and another the painters in those days did spend a 
lot of money and they spent all they got hold of because in those happy 
days you could owe money for years for your paints and canvases and 
rent and restaurant and practically everything except coal and luxuries. 

The winter went on. Three Lives was written. Gertrude Stein asked 
her sister-in-law to come and read it. She did and was deeply moved. 
This pleased Gertrude Stein immensely, she did not believe that any one 
could read anything she wrote and be interested. In those days she never 
asked any one what they thought of her work, but were they interested 
enough to read it. Now she says if they can bring themselves to read it 
they will be interested. 

Her elder brother's wife has always meant a great deal in her life but 
never more than on that afternoon. And then it had to be typewritten. 
Gertrude Stein had at that time a wretched little portable typewriter 
which she never used. She always then and for many years later wrote 
on scraps of paper in pencil, copied it into french school note-books in 
ink and then often copied it over again in ink. It was in connection with 
these various series of scraps of paper that her elder brother once re- 


marked, I do not know whether Gertrude has more genius than the rest 
of you all, that I know nothing about, but one thing I have always 
noticed, the rest of you paint and write and are not satisfied and throw 
it away or tear it up, she does not say whether she is satisfied or not, she 
copies it very often but she never throws away any piece of paper upon 
which she has written. 

Gertrude Stein tried to copy Three Lives on the typewriter but it was 
no use, it made her nervous, so Etta Cone came to the rescue. The Miss 
Etta Cones as Pablo Picasso used to call her and her sister. Etta Cone 
was a Baltimore connection of Gertrude Stein's and she was spending a 
winter in Paris. She was rather lonesome and she was rather interested. 

Etta Cone found the Picassos appalling but romantic. She was taken 
there by Gertrude Stein whenever the Picasso finances got beyond every- 
body and was made to buy a hundred francs' worth of drawings. After 
all a hundred francs in those days was twenty dollars. She was quite will- 
ing to indulge in this romantic charity. Needless to say these drawings 
became in very much later years the nucleus of her collection. 

Etta Cone offered tp typewrite Three Lives and she began. Baltimore 
is famous for the delicate sensibilities and conscientiousness of its inhabit- 
ants. It suddenly occurred to Gertrude Stein that she had not told Etta 
Cone to read the manuscript before beginning to typewrite it. She went 
to see her and there indeed was Etta Cone faithfully copying the manu- 
script letter by letter so that she might not by any indiscretion become 
conscious of the meaning. Permission to read the text having been given 
the typewriting went on. 

Spring was coming and the sittings were coming to an end. All of a 
sudden one day Picasso painted out the whole head. I can't see you any 
longer when I look, he said irritably. And so the picture was left like 

Nobody remembers being particularly disappointed or particularly an- 
noyed at this ending to the long series of posings. There was the spring 
independent and then Gertrude Stein and her brother were going, to 
Italy as was at that time their habit. Pablo and Fernande were going to 
Spain, she for the first time, and she had to buy a dress and a hat and 
perfumes and a cooking stove. All french women in those days when 
they went from one country to another took along a french oil stove to 
cook on. Perhaps they still do. No matter where they were going this 
had to be taken with them. They always paid a great deal of excess bag- 


gage, all french women who went travelling. And the Matisses were 
back and they had to meet the Picassos and to be enthusiastic about each 
other, but not to like each other very well. And in their wake, Derain 
met Picasso and with him came Braque. 

It may seem very strange to every one nowadays that before this time 
Matisse had never heard of Picasso and Picasso had never met Matisse. 
But at that time every little crowd lived its own life and knew practically 
nothing of any other crowd. Matisse on the Quai Saint-Michel and in 
the independant did not know anything of Picasso and Montmartre and 
Sagot. They all, it is true, had been in the very early stages bought one 
after the other by Mademoiselle Weill, the bric-a-brac shop in Mont- 
martre, but as she bought everybody's pictures, pictures brought by any 
one, not necessarily by the painter, it was not very likely that any painter 
would, except by some rare chance, see there the paintings of any other 
painter. They were however all very grateful to her in later years because 
after all practically everybody who later became famous had sold their 
first little picture to her. 

As I was saying the sittings were over, the vernissage of the inde- 
pendent was over and everybody went away. 

It had been a fruitful winter. In the long struggle with the portrait of 
Gertrude Stein, Picasso passed from the Harlequin, the charming early 
Italian period to the intensive struggle which was to end in cubism. 
Gertrude Stein had written the story of Melanctha the negress, the sec- 
ond story of Three Lives which was the first definite step away from 
the nineteenth century and into the twentieth century in literature. 
Matisse had painted the Bonheur de Vivre and had created the new 
school of colour which was soon to leave its mark on everything. And 
everybody went away. That summer the Matisses came to Italy. Matisse 
did not care about it very much, he preferred France and Morocco but 
Madame Matisse was deeply touched. It was a girlish dream fulfilled. 
She said, I say to myself all the time, I am in Italy. And I say it to Henri 
all the time and he is very sweet about it, but he says, what of it. 

The Picassos were in Spain and Fernande wrote long letters describ- 
ing Spain and the Spaniards and earthquakes. 

In Florence except for the short visit of the Matisses and a short visit 
from Alfy Maurer the summer life was in no way related to the Paris 

Gertrude Stein and her brother rented for the summer a villa on top 


of the hill at Fiesole near Florence, and there they spent their summers 
for several years. The year I came to Paris a friend and myself took this 
villa, Gertrude Stein and her brother having taken a larger one on the 
other side of Fiesole, having been joined that year by their elder brother, 
his wife and child. The small one, the Casa Ricci, was very delightful. 
It had been made livable by a Scotch woman who born Presbyterian be- 
came an ardent Catholic and took her old Presbyterian mother from one 
convent to another. Finally they came to rest in Casa Ricci and there 
she made for herself a chapel and there her mother died. She then aban- 
doned this for a lager villa which she turned into a retreat for retired 
priests and Gertrude Stein and her brother rented the Casa Ricci from 
her. Gertrude Stein delighted in her landlady who looked exactly like 
a lady-in-waiting to Mary Stuart and with all her trailing black robes 
genuflected before every Catholic symbol and would then climb up a 
precipitous ladder and open a little window in the roof to look at the 
stars. A strange mingling of Catholic and Protestant exaltation. 

Helene the french servant never came down to Fiesole. She had by 
that time married. She cooked for her husband during the summer and 
mended the stockings of Gertrude Stein and her brother by putting new 
feet into them. She also made jam. In Italy there was Maddalena quite 
as important in Italy as Helene in Paris, but I doubt if with as much 
appreciation for notabilities. Italy is too accustomed to the famous and 
the children of the famous. It was Edwin Dodge who apropos of these 
said, the lives of great men oft remind us we should leave no sons be- 
hind us. 

Gertrude Stein adored heat and sunshine although she always says 
that Paris winter is an ideal climate. In those days it was always at noon 
that she preferred to walk. I, who have and had no fondness for a sum- 
mer sun, often accompanied her. Sometimes later in Spain I sat under 
a tree and wept but she in the sun was indefatigable. She could even lie 
in the sun and look straight up into a summer noon sun, she said it 
rested her eyes and head. 

There were amusing people in Florence. There were the Berensons 
and at that time with them Gladys Deacon, a well known international 
beauty, but after a winter of Montmartre Gertrude Stein found her too 
easily shocked to be interesting. Then there were the first russians, von 
Heiroth and his wife, she who afterwards had four husbands and once 


pleasantly remarked that she had always been good friends with all her 
husbands. He was foolish but attractive and told the usual russian stories. 
Then there were the Thorolds and a great many others. And most im- 
portant there was a most excellent english lending library with all sorts 
of strange biographies which were to Gertrude Stein a source of endless 
pleasure. She once told me that when she was young she had read so 
much, read from the Elizabethans to the moderns, that she was terribly 
uneasy lest some day she would be without anything to read. For years 
this fear haunted her but in one way and another although she always 
reads and reads she seems always to find more to read. Her eldest brother 
used to complain that although he brought up from Florence every day 
as many books as he could carry, there always were just as many to take 

It was during this summer that Gertrude Stein began her great book, 
The Making of Americans. 

It began with an old daily theme that she had written when at Rad- 

"Once an angry man dragged his father along the ground through 
his own orchard. tStop!' cried the groaning old man at last. 'Stop! I did 
not drag my father beyond this tree.' 

"It is hard living down the tempers we are born with. We all begin 
well. For in our youth there is nothing we are more intolerant of than 
our own sins writ large in others and we fight them fiercely in ourselves; 
but we grow old and we see that these our sins are of all sins the really 
harmless ones to own, nay that they give a charm to any character, and 
so our struggle with them dies away." And it was to be the history of a 
family. It was a history of a family but by the time I came to Paris it 
was getting to be a history of all human beings, all who ever were or are 
or could be living. 

Gertrude Stein in all her life has never been as pleased with anything 
as she is with the translation that Bernard Fay and Madame Seilliere are 
making of this book now. She has just been going over it with Bernard 
Fay and as she says, it is wonderful in english and it is even as wonder- 
ful in french. Elliot Paul, when editor of transition once said that he 
was certain that Gertrude Stein could be a best-seller in France. It seems 
very likely that his prediction is to be fulfilled. 

But to return to those old days in the Casa Ricci and the first begin- 


nings of those long sentences which were to change the literary ideas of 
a great many people. 

Gertrude Stein was working tremendously over the beginning of The 
Making of Americans and came back to Paris under the spell of the 
thing she was doing. It was at this time that working every night she 
often was caught by the dawn coming while she was working. She came 
back to a Paris fairly full of excitement. In the first place she came back 
to her finished portrait. The day he returned from Spain Picasso sat 
down and out of his head painted the head in without having seen Ger- 
trude Stein again. And when she saw it he and she were content. It is 
very strange but neither can remember at all what the head looked like 
when he painted it out. There is another charming story of the portrait. 

Only a few years ago when Gertrude Stein had had her hair cut short, 
she had always up toi that time worn it as a crown on top of her head 
as Picasso has painted it, when she had had her hair cut, a day or so 
later she happened to come into a room and Picasso was several rooms 
away. She had a hat on but he caught sight of her through two door- 
ways and approaching her quickly called out, Gertrude, what is it, what 
is it. What is what, Pablo, she said. Let me see, he said. She let him see. 
And my portrait, said he sternly. Then his face softening he added, mais, 
quand meme tout y est, all the same it is all there. 

Matisse was back and there was excitement in the air. Derain, and 
Braque with him, had gone Montmartre. Braque was a young painter 
who had known Marie Laurencin when they were both art students, and 
they had then painted each other's portraits. After that Braque had done 
rather geographical pictures, rounded hills and very much under the 
colour influence of Matisse's independent painting. He had come to 
know Derain, I am not sure but that they had known each other while 
doing their military service, and now they knew Picasso. It was an excit- 
ing moment. 

They began to spend their days up there and they all always ate to- 
gether at a little restaurant opposite, and Picasso was more than ever as 
Gertrude Stein said the little bull-fighter followed by his squadron of 
four, or as later in her portrait of him, she called him, Napoleon followed 
by his four enormous grenadiers. Derain and Braque were great big 
men, so was Guillaume a heavy set man and Salmon was not small. 
Picasso was every inch a chief. 

This brings the story to Salmon and Guillaume Apollinaire, although 


Gertrude Stein had known these two and Marie Laurencin a consider- 
able time before all this was happening. 

Salmon and Guillaume Apollinaire both lived in Montmartre in these 
days. Salmon was very lithe and alive but Gertrude Stein never found 
him particularly interesting. She liked him. Guillaume Apollinaire on 
the contrary was very wonderful. There was just about that time, that 
is about the time when Gertrude Stein first knew Apollinaire, the ex- 
citement of a duel that he was to fight with another writer. Fernande 
and Pablo told about it with so much excitement and so much laughter 
and so much Montmartre slang, this was in the early days of their ac- 
quaintance, that she was always a little vague about just what did hap- 
pen. But the gist of the matter was that Guillaume challenged the other 
man and Max Jacob was to be the second and witness for Guillaume. 
Guillaume and his antagonist each sat in their favourite cafe all day and 
waited while their seconds went to and fro. How it all ended Gertrude 
Stein does not know except that nobody fought, but the great excitement 
was the bill each second and witness brought to his principal. In these 
was itemised each time they had a cup of coffee and of course they had 
to have a cup of coffee every time they sat down at one or other cafe 
with one or other principal, and again when the two seconds sat with 
each other. There was also the question under what circumstances were 
they under the absolute necessity of having a glass of brandy with the 
cup of coffee. And how often would they have had coffee if they had 
not been seconds. All this led to endless meetings and endless discussion 
and endless additional items. It lasted for days, perhaps weeks and 
months and whether anybody finally was paid, even the cafe keeper, 
nobody knows. It was notorious that Apollinaire was parted with the 
very greatest difficulty from even the smallest piece of money. It was all 
very absorbing. 

Apollinaire was very attractive and very interesting. He had a head 
like one of the late roman emperors. He had a brother whom one heard 
about but never saw. He worked in a bank and therefore he was reason- 
ably well dressed. When anybody in Montmartre had to go anywhere 
where they had to be conventionally clothed, either to see a relation or 
attend to a business matter, they always wore a piece of a suit that be- 
longed to the brother of Guillaume. 

Guillaume was extraordinarily brilliant and no matter what subject 
was started, if he knew anything about it or not, he quickly saw the 


whole meaning of the thing and elaborated it by his wit and fancy 
carrying it further than anybody knowing anything about it could have 
done, and oddly enough generally correctly. 

Once, several years later, we were dining with the Picassos, and in a 
conversation I got the best of Guillaume. I was very proud, but, said 
Eve (Picasso was no longer with Fernande), Guillaume was frightfully 
drunk or it would not have happened. It was only under such circum- 
stances that anybody could successfully turn a phrase against Guillaume. 
Poor Guillaume. The last time we saw him was after he had come 
back to Paris from the war. He had been badly wounded in the head 
and had had a piece of his skull removed. He looked very wonderful 
with his bleu horizon and his bandaged head. He lunched with us and 
we all talked a long time together. He was tired and his heavy head 
nodded. He was very serious almost solemn. We went away shortly after, 
we were working with the American Fund for French Wounded, and 
never saw him again. Later Olga Picasso, the wife of Picasso, told us 
that the night of the armistice Guillaume Apollinaire died, that they 
were with him that whole evening and it was warm and the windows 
were open and the crowd passing were shouting, a bas Guillaume, down 
with William and as every one always called Guillaume Apollinaire 
Guillaume, even in his death agony it troubled him. 

He had really been heroic. As a foreigner, his mother was a pole, his 
father possibly an italian, it was not at all necessary that he should volun- 
teer to fight. He was a man of full habit, accustomed to a literary life 
and the delights of the table, and in spite of everything he volunteered. 
He went into the artillery first. Every one advised this as it was less dan- 
gerous and easier than the infantry, but after a while he could not bear 
this half protection and he changed into the infantry and was wounded 
in a charge. He was a long time in hospital, recovered a little, it was at 
this time that we saw him, and finally died on the day of the armistice. 

The death of Guillaume Apollinaire at this time made a very serious 
difference to all his friends apart from their sorrow at his death. It was 
the moment just after the war when many things had changed and 
people naturally fell apart. Guillaume would have been a bond of union, 
he always had a quality of keeping people together, and now that he 
was gone everybody ceased to be friends. But all that was very much 
later and now to go back again to the beginning when Gertrude Stein 
first met Guillaume and Marie Laurencin. 


Everybody called Gertrude Stein Gertrude, or at most Mademoiselle 
Gertrude, everybody called Picasso Pablo and Fernande Fernande and 
everybody called Guillaume Apollinaire Guillaume and Max Jacob Max 
but everybody called Marie Laurencin Marie Laurencin. 

The first time Gertrude Stein ever saw Marie Laurencin, Guillaume 
Apollinaire brought her to the rue de Fleurus, not on a Saturday eve- 
ning, but another evening. She was very interesting. They were an ex- 
traordinary pair. Marie Laurencin was terribly near-sighted and of 
course she never wore eye-glasses, no french woman and few frenchmen 
did in those days. She used a lorgnette. 

She looked at each picture carefully that is, every picture on the line, 
bringing her eye close and moving over the whole of it with her lor- 
gnette, an inch at a time. The pictures out of reach she ignored. Finally 
she remarked, as for myself, I prefer portraits and that is of course 
quite natural, as I myself am a Clouet. And it was perfectly true, she 
was a Clouet. She had the square thin build of the mediaeval french 
women in the french primitives. She spoke in a high pitched beautifully 
modulated voice. She sat down beside Gertrude Stein on the couch and 
she recounted the story of her life, told that her mother who had always 
had it in her nature to dislike men had been for many years the mistress 
of an important personage, had borne her, Marie Laurencin. I have 
never, she added, dared let her know Guillaume although of course he 
is so sweet that she could not refuse to like him but better not. Some 
day you will see her. 

And later on Gertrude Stein saw the mother and by that time I was 
in Paris and I was taken along. 

Marie Laurencin, leading her strange life and making her strange 
art, lived with her mother, who was a very quiet, very pleasant, very 
dignified woman, as if the two were living in a convent. The small 
apartment was filled with needlework which the mother had executed 
after the designs of Marie Laurencin. Marie and her mother acted 
toward each other exactly as a young nun with an older one. It was all 
very strange. Later just before the war the mother fell ill and died. 
Then the mother did see Guillaume Apollinaire and liked him. 

After her mother's death Marie Laurencin lost all sense of stability. 
She and Guillaume no longer saw each other. A relation that had existed 
as long as the mother lived without the mother's knowledge now that 
the mother was dead and had seen and liked Guillaume could no longer 


endure. Marie against the advice of all her friends married a german. 
When her friends remonstrated with her she said, but he is the only 
one who can give me a feeling of my mother. 

Six weeks after the marriage the war came and Marie had to leave 
the country, having been married to a german. As she told me later 
when once during the war we met in Spain, naturally the officials could 
make no trouble for her, her passport made it clear that no one knew 
who her father was and they naturally were afraid because perhaps her 
father might be the president of the french republic. 

During these war years Marie was very unhappy. She was intensely 
french and she was technically german. When you met her she would 
say, let me present to you my husband a boche, I do not remember his 
name. The official french world in Spain with whom she and her hus- 
band occasionally came in contact made things very unpleasant for her, 
constantly referring to Germany as her country. In the meanwhile Guil- 
laume with whom she was in correspondence wrote her passionately 
patriotic letters. It was a miserable time for Marie Laurencin. 

Finally Madame Groult, the sister of Poiret, coming to Spain, man- 
aged to help Marie out of her troubles. She finally divorced her husband 
and after the armistice returned to Paris, at home once more in the 
world. It was then that she came to the rue de Fleurus again, this time 
with Erik Satie. They were both Normans and so proud and happy 
about it. 

In the early days Marie Laurencin painted a strange picture, portraits 
of Guillaume, Picasso, Fernande and herself. Fernande told Gertrude 
Stein about it. Gertrude Stein bought it and Marie Laurencin was so 
pleased. It was the first picture of hers any one had ever bought. 

It was before Gertrude Stein knew the rue Ravignan that Guillaume 
Apollinaire had his first paid job, he edited a little pamphlet about 
physical culture. And it was for this that Picasso made his wonderful 
caricatures, including one of Guillaume as an exemplar of what physical 
culture could do. 

And now once more to return to the return from all their travels and 
to Picasso becoming the head of a movement that was later to be known 
as the cubists. Who called it cubist first I do not know but very likely 
it was Apollinaire. At any rate he wrote the first little pamphlet about 
them all and illustrated it with their paintings. 

I can so well remember the first time Gertrude Stein took me to see 


Guillaume Apollinaire. It was a tiny bachelor's apartment on the rue des 
Martyrs. The room was crowded with a great many small young gentle- 
men. Who, I asked Fernande, are all these little men. They are poets, 
answered Fernande. I was overcome. I had never seen poets before, one 
poet yes but not poets. It was on that night too that Picasso, just a little 
drunk and to Fernande's great indignation persisted in sitting beside me 
and finding for me in a Spanish album of photographs the exact spot 
where he was born. I came away with rather a vague idea of its situation. 

Derain and Braque became followers of Picasso about six months 
after Picasso had, through Gertrude Stein and her brother, met Matisse. 
Matisse had in the meantime introduced Picasso to negro sculpture. 

At that time negro sculpture had been well known to curio hunters 
but not to artists. Who first recognised its potential value for the modern 
artist I am sure I do not know. Perhaps it was Maillol who came from 
the Perpignan region and knew Matisse in the south and called his atten- 
tion to it. There is a tradition that it was Derain. It is also very possible 
that it was Matisse himself because for many years there was a curio- 
dealer in the rue de Rennes who always had a great many things of this 
kind in his window and Matisse often went up the rue de Rennes to go 
to one of the sketch classes. 

In any case it was Matisse who first was influenced, not so much in 
his painting but in his sculpture, by the african statues and it was 
Matisse who drew Picasso's attention to it just after Picasso had finished 
painting Gertrude Stein's portrait. 

The effect of this african art upon Matisse and Picasso was entirely 
different. Matisse through it was affected more in his imagination than 
in his vision. Picasso more in his vision than in his imagination. Strangely 
enough it is only very much later in his life that this influence has 
affected his imagination and that may be through its having been re- 
enforced by the Orientalism of the russians when he came in contact 
with that through Diaghilev and the russian ballet. 

In these early days when he created cubism the effect of the african 
art was purely upon his vision and his forms, his imagination remained 
purely Spanish. The Spanish quality of ritual and abstraction had been 
indeed stimulated by his painting the portrait of Gertrude Stein. She 
had a definite impulse then and always toward elemental abstraction. 
She was not at any time interested in african sculpture. She always says 
that she liked it well enough but that it has nothing to do with europeans, 


that it lacks naivete, that it is very ancient, very narrow, very sophis- 
ticated but lacks the elegance of the Egyptian sculpture from which it is 
derived. She says that as an american she likes primitive things to be 
more savage. 

Matisse and Picasso then being introduced to each other by Gertrude 
Stein and her brother became friends but they were enemies. Now they 
are neither friends nor enemies. At that time they were both. 

They exchanged pictures as was the habit in those days. Each painter 
chose the one of the other one that presumably interested him the most. 
Matisse and Picasso chose each one of the other one the picture that was 
undoubtedly the least interesting either of them had done. Later each 
one used it as an example, the picture he had chosen, of the weaknesses 
of the other one. Very evidently in the two pictures chosen the strong 
qualities of each painter were not much in evidence. 

The feeling between the Picassoites and the Matisseites became bitter. 
And this, you see, brings me to the independent where my friend and I 
sat without being aware of it under the two pictures which first pub- 
licly showed that Derain and Braque had become Picassoites and were 
definitely not Matisseites. 

In the meantime naturally a great many things had happened. 

Matisse showed in every autumn salon and every independent. He 
was beginning to have a considerable following. Picasso, on the con- 
trary, never in all his wife has shown in any salon. His pictures at that 
time could really only be seen at 27 rue de Eleurus. The first time as one 
might say that he had ever shown at a public show was when Derain 
and Braque, completely influenced by his recent work, showed theirs. 
After that he too had many followers. 

Matisse was irritated by the growing friendship between Picasso and 
Gertrude Stein. Mademoiselle Gertrude, he explained, likes local colour 
and theatrical values. It would be impossible for any one of her quality 
to have a serious friendship with any one like Picasso. Matisse still came 
frequently to the rue de Fleurus but there was no longer any frankness 
of intercourse between them all. It was about this time that Gertrude 
Stein and her brother gave a lunch for all the painters whose pictures 
were on the wall. Of course it did not include the dead or the old. It was 
at this lunch that as I have already said Gertrude Stein made them all 
happy and made the lunch a success by seating each painter facing his 


own picture. No one of them noticed it, they were just naturally pleased, 
until just as they were all leaving Matisse, standing up with his back to 
the door and looking into the room suddenly realised what had been 

Matisse intimated that Gertrude Stein had lost interest in his work. 
She answered him, there is nothing within you that fights itself and 
hitherto you have had the instinct to produce antagonism in others which 
stimulated you to attack. But now they follow. 

That was the end of the conversation but a beginning of an important 
part of The Making of Americans. Upon this idea Gertrude Stein based 
some of her most permanent distinctions in types of people. 

It was about this time that Matisse began his teaching. He now moved 
from the Quai Saint-Michel, where he had lived ever since his marriage, 
to the boulevard des Invalides. In consequence of the separation of 
church and state which had just taken place in France the french gov- 
ernment had become possessed of a great many convent schools and 
other church property. As many of these convents ceased to exist, there 
were at that time a great many of their buildings empty. Among others 
a very splendid one on the boulevard des Invalides. 

These buildings were being rented at very low prices because no lease 
was given, as the government when it decided how to use them perma- 
nently would put the tenants out without warning. It was therefore an 
ideal place for artists as there were gardens and big rooms and they 
could put up with the inconveniences of housekeeping under the cir- 
cumstances. So the Matisses moved in and Matisse instead of a small 
room to work in had an immense one and the two boys came home and 
they were all very happy. Then a number of those who had become his 
followers asked him if he would teach them if they organised a class for 
him in the same building in which he was then living. He consented 
and the Matisse atelier began. 

The applicants were of all nationalities and Matisse was at first ap- 
palled at the number and variety of them. He told with much amuse- 
ment as well as surprise that when he asked a very little woman in the 
front row, what in particular she had in mind in her painting, what she 
was seeking, she replied, Monsieur je cherche le neuf. He used to won- 
der how they all managed to learn french when he knew none of 
their languages. Some one got hold of some of these facts and made fun 


of the school iij one of the french weeklies. This hurt Matisse's feelings 
frightfully. The article said, and where did these people come from, and 
it was answered, from Massachusetts. Matisse was very unhappy. 

But in spite of all this and also in spite of many dissensions the school 
flourished. There were difficulties. One of the hungarians wanted to 
earn his living posing for the class and in the intervals when some one 
else posed go on with his painting. There were a number of young 
women who protested, a nude model on a model stand was one thing 
but to have it turn into a fellow student was another. A hungarian was 
found eating the bread for rubbing out crayon drawings that the various 
students left on their painting boards and this evidence of extreme 
poverty and lack of hygiene had an awful effect upon the sensibilities 
of the americans. There were quite a number of americans. One of these 
americans under the plea of poverty was receiving his tuition for nothing 
and then was found to have purchased for himself a tiny Matisse and a 
tiny Picasso and a tiny Scurat. This was not only unfair, because many 
of the others wanted and could not afford to own a picture by the master 
and they were paying their tuition, but, since he also bought a Picasso, 
it was treason. And then every once in a while some one said something 
to Matisse in such bad french that it sounded like something very dif- 
ferent from what it was and Matisse grew very angry and the unfortu- 
nate had to be taught how to apologise properly. All the students were 
working under such a state of tension that explosions were frequent. 
One would accuse another of undue influence with the master and then 
there were long and complicated scenes in which usually some one had 
to apologise. It was all very difficult since they themselves organised 

Gertrude Stein enjoyed all these complications immensely. Matisse 
was a good gossip and so was she and at this time they delighted in tell- 
ing tales to each other. 

She began at that time always calling Matisse the C.M. or cher maitre. 
She told him the favourite Western story, pray gentlemen, let there be 
no bloodshed. Matisse came not unfrequently to the rue de Fleurus. It 
was indeed at this time that Helene prepared him the fried eggs instead 
of an omelet. 

Three Lives had been typewritten and now the next thing was to 
show it to a publisher. Some one gave Gertrude Stein the name of an 
agent in New York and she tried that. Nothing came of it. Then she 


tried publishers directly. The only one at all interested was Bobbs-Merrill 
and they said they could not undertake it. This attempt to find a pub- 
lisher lasted some time and then without being really discouraged she 
decided to have it printed. It was not an unnatural thought as people in 
Paris often did this. Some one told her about the Grafton Press in New 
York, a respectable firm that printed special historical things that people 
wanted to have printed. The arrangements were concluded, Three Lives 
was to be printed and the proofs to be sent. 

One day some one knocked at the door and a very nice very american 
young man asked if he might speak to Miss Stein. She said, yes come in. 
He said, I have come at the request of the Grafton Press. Yes, she said. 
You see, he said slightly hesitant, the director of the Grafton Press is 
under the impression that perhaps your knowledge of english. But I 
am an american, said Gertrude Stein indignantly. Yes yes I understand 
that perfectly now, he said, but perhaps you have not had much experi- 
ence in writing. I suppose, said she laughing, you were under the im- 
pression that I was imperfectly educated. He blushed, why no, he said, 
but you might not have had much experience in writing. Oh yes, she 
said, oh yes. Well it's alright. I will write to the director and you might 
as well tell him also that everything that is written in the manuscript is 
written with the intention of its being so written and all he has to do is to 
print it and I will take the responsibility. The young man bowed himself 

Later when the book was noticed by interested writers and newspaper 
men the director of the Grafton Press wrote Gertrude Stein a very simple 
letter in which he admitted he had been surprised at the notice the book 
had received but wished to add that now that he had seen the result he 
wished to say that he was very pleased that his firm had printed the book. 
But this last was after I came to Paris. 

4 Gertrude Stein Before She Came to Paris 

Once more I have come to Paris and now I am one of the habitues of 
the rue de Fleurus. Gertrude Stein was writing The Making of Ameri- 
cans and she had just commenced correcting the proofs of Three Lives. 
I helped her correct them. 

Gertrude Stein was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania. As I am an 
ardent californian and as she spent her youth there I have often begged 
her to be born in California but she has always remained firmly born in 
Allegheny, Pennsylvania. She left it when she was six months old and 
has never seen it again and now it no longer exists being all of it Pitts- 
burgh. She used however to delight in being born in Allegheny, Penn- 
sylvania when during the war, in connection with war work, we used 
to have papers made out and they always immediately wanted to know 
one's birth-place. She used to say if she had been really born in Cali- 
fornia as I wanted her to have been she would never have had the pleas- 
ure of seeing the various french officials try to write, Allegheny, Penn- 

When I first knew Gertrude Stein in Paris I was surprised never to 
see a french book on her table, although there were always plenty of 
english ones, there were even no french newspapers. But do you never 
read french, I as well as many other people asked her. No, she replied, 
you see I feel with my eyes and it does not make any difference to me 
what language I hear, I don't hear a language, I hear tones of voice and 
rhythms, but with my eyes I see words and sentences and there is for me 
only one language and that is english. One of the things that I have liked 
all these years is to be surrounded by people who know no english. It 
has left me more intensely alone with my eyes and my english. I do not 
know if it would have been possible to have english be so all in all to 
me otherwise. And they none of them could read a word I wrote, most 
of them did not even know that I did write. No, I like living with so 
very many people and being all alone with english and myself. 



One of her chapters in The Making of Americans begins : I write for 
myself and strangers. 

She was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, of a very respectable middle 
class family. She always says that she is very grateful not to have been 
born of an intellectual family, she has a horror of what she calls intel- 
lectual people. It has always been rather ridiculous that she who is good 
friends with all the world and can know them and they can know her, 
has always been the admired of the precious. But she always says some 
day they, anybody, will find out that she is of interest to them, she and 
her writing. And she always consoles herself that the newspapers are 
always interested. They always say, she says, that my writing is appalling 
but they always quote it and what is more, they quote it correctly, and 
those they say they admire they do not quote. This at some of her most 
bitter moments has been a consolation. My sentences do get under their 
skin, only they do not know that they do, she has often said. 

She was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, in a house, a twin house. 
Her family lived in one and her father's brother's family lived in the 
other one. These two families are the families described in The Making 
of Americans. They had lived in these houses for about eight years 
when Gertrude Stein was born. A year before her birth, the two sisters- 
in-law who had never gotten along any too well were no longer on speak- 
ing terms. 

Gertrude Stein's mother as she describes her in The Making of Ameri- 
cans, a gentle pleasant little woman with a quick temper, flatly refused 
to see her sister-in-law again. I don't know quite what had happened 
but something. At any rate the two brothers who had been very success- 
ful business partners broke up their partnership, the one brother went 
to New York where he and all his family after him became very rich 
and the other brother, Gertrude Stein's family, went to Europe. They 
first went to Vienna and stayed there until Gertrude Stein was about 
three years old. All she remembers of this is that her brother's tutor once, 
when she was allowed to sit with her brothers at their lessons, described 
a tiger's snarl and that that pleased and terrified her. Also that in a pic- 
ture-book that one of her brothers used to show her there was a story of 
the wanderings of Ulysses who when sitting sat on bent-wood dining 
room chairs. Also she remembers that they used to play in the public 
gardens and that often the old Kaiser Francis Joseph used to stroll 
through the gardens and sometimes a band played the austrian national 


hymn which she liked. She believed for many years that Kaiser was the 
real name of Francis Joseph and she never could come to accept the name 
as belonging to anybody else. 

They lived in Vienna for three years, the father having in the mean- 
while gone back to America on business and then they moved to Paris. 
Here Gertrude Stein has more lively memories. She remembers a little 
school where she and her elder sister stayed and where there was a little 
girl in the corner of the school yard and the other little girls told her not 
to go near her, she sscratched. She also remembers the bowl of soup with 
french bread for breakfast and she also remembers that they had mutton 
and spinach for lunch and as she was very fond of spinach and not fond 
of mutton she used to trade mutton for spinach with the little girl op- 
posite. She also remembers all of her three older brothers coming to see 
them at the school and coming on horse-back. She also remembers a 
black cat jumping from the ceiling of their house at Passy and scaring 
her mother and some unknown person rescuing her. 

The family remained in Paris a year and then they came back to 
America. Gertrude Stein's elder brother charmingly describes the last 
days when he and his mother went shopping and bought everything 
that pleased their fancy, seal skin coats and caps and muffs for the whole 
family from the mother to the small sister Gertrude Stein, gloves dozens 
of gloves, wonderful hats, riding costumes, and finally ending up with 
a microscope and a whole set of the famous french history of zoology. 
Then they sailed for America. 

This visit to Paris made a very great impression upon Gertrude Stein. 
When in the beginning of the war, she and I having been in England 
and there having been caught by the outbreak of the war and so not 
returning until October, were back in Paris, the first day we went out 
Gertrude Stein said, it is strange, Paris is so different but so familiar. 
And then reflectively, I see what it is, there is nobody here but the french 
(there were no soldiers or allies there yet), you can see the little children 
in their black aprons, you can see the streets because there is nobody on 
them, it is just like my memory of Paris when I was three years old. 
The pavements smell like they used (horses had come back into use), 
the smell of french streets and french public gardens that I remember 
so well. 

They went back to America and in New York, the New York family 


tried to reconcile Gertrude Stein's mother to her sister-in-law but she 
was obdurate. 

This story reminds me of Miss Etta Cone, a distant connection of 
Gertrude Stein, who typed Three Lives. When I first met her in Flor- 
ence she confided to me that she could forgive but never forget. I added 
that as for myself I could forget but not forgive. Gertrude Stein's mother 
in this case was evidently unable to do either. 

The family went west to California after a short stay in Baltimore at 
the home of her grandfather, the religious old man she describes in The 
Making of Americans, who lived in an old house in Baltimore with a 
large number of those cheerful pleasant little people, her uncles and her 

Gertrude Stein has never ceased to be thankful to her mother for 
neither forgetting or forgiving. Imagine, she has said to me, if my mother 
had forgiven her sister-in-law and my father had gone into business with 
my uncle and we had lived and been brought up in New York, imagine, 
she says, how horrible. We would have been rich instead of being rea- 
sonably poor but imagine how horrible to have been brought up in New 

I as a californian can very thoroughly sympathise. 

And so they took the train to California. The only thing Gertrude 
Stein remembers of this trip was that she and her sister had beautiful 
big austrian red felt hats trimmed each with a beautiful ostrich feather 
and at some stage of the trip her sister leaning out of the window had 
her hat blown off. Her 1 father rang the emergency bell, stopped the train, 
got the hat to the awe and astonishment of the passengers and the con- 
ductor. The only other thing she remembers is that they had a wonder- 
ful hamper of food given them by the aunts in Baltimore and that in it 
was a marvellous turkey. And that later as the food in it diminished it 
was renewed all along the road whenever they stopped and that that 
was always exciting. And also that somewhere in the desert they saw 
some red indians and that somewhere else in the desert they were given 
some very funny tasting peaches to eat. 

When they arrived in California they went to an orange grove but 
she does not remember any oranges but remembers filling up her father's 
cigar boxes with little limes which were very wonderful. 

They came by slow stages to San Francisco and settled down in Oak- 


land. She remembers there the eucalyptus trees seeming to her so tall 
and thin and savage and the animal life very wild. But all this and much 
more, all the physical life of these days, she has described in the life of 
the Hersland family in her Making of Americans. The important thing 
to tell about now is her education. 

Her father having taken his children to Europe so that they might 
have the benefit of a europeari education now insisted that they should 
forget their french and german so that their american english would 
be pure. Gertrude Stein had prattled in german and then in french but 
she had never read until she read english. As she says eyes to her were 
more important than ears and it happened then as always that english 
was her only language. 

Her bookish life commenced at this time. She read anything that was 
printed that came her way and a great deal came her way. In the house 
were a few stray novels, a few travel books, her mother's well bound 
gift books Wordsworth Scott and other poets, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress a set of Shakespeare with notes, Burns, Congressional Records en- 
cyclopedias etcetera. She read them all and many times. She and her 
brothers began to acquire other books. There was also the local free 
library and later in San Francisco there were the mercantile and me- 
chanics libraries with their excellent sets of eighteenth century and nine- 
teenth century authors. From her eighth year when she absorbed Shake- 
speare to her fifteenth year when she read Clarissa Harlowe, Fielding, 
Smollett etcetera and used to worry lest in a few years more she would 
have read everything and there would be nothing unread to read, she 
lived continuously with the english language. She read a tremendous 
amount of history, she often laughs and says she is one of the few people 
of her generation that has read every line of Carlyle's Frederick the 
Great and Lecky's Constitutional History of England besides Charles 
Grandison and Wordsworth's longer poems. In fact she was as she still 
is always reading. She reads anything and everything and even now 
hates to be disturbed and above all however often she has read a book 
and however foolish the book may be no one must make fun of it or 
tell her how it goes on. It is still as it always was real to her. 

The theatre she has always cared for less. She says it goes too fast, the 
mixture of eye and ear bothers her and her emotion never keeps pace. 
Music she only cared for during her adolescence. She finds it difficult 
to listen to it, it does not hold her attention. All of which of course may 


seem strange because it has been so often said that the appeal of her work 
is to the ear and to the subconscious. Actually it is her eyes and mind 
that are active and important and concerned in choosing. 

Life in California came to its end when Gertrude Stein was about 
seventeen years old. The last few years had been lonesome ones and had 
been passed in an agony of adolescence. After the death of first her 
mother and then her father she and her sister and one brother left Cali- 
fornia for the East. They came to Baltimore and stayed with her mother's 
people. There she began to lose her lonesomeness. She has often de- 
scribed to me how strange it was to her coming from the rather des- 
perate inner life that she had been living for the last few years to the 
cheerful life of all her aunts and uncles. When later she went to Rad- 
cliffe she described this experience in the first thing she ever wrote. 
Not quite the first thing she ever wrote. She remembers having written 
twice before. Once when she was about eight and she tried to write a 
Shakespearean drama in which she got as far as a stage direction, the 
courtiers making witty remarks. And then as she could not think of any 
witty remarks gave it up. 

The only other effort she can remember must have been at about the 
same age. They asked the children in the public schools to write a de- 
scription. Her recollection is that she described a sunset with the sun 
going into a cave of clouds. Anyway it was one of the half dozen in the 
school chosen to be copied out on beautiful parchment paper. After she 
had tried to copy it twice and the writing became worse and worse she 
was reduced to letting some one else copy it for her. This, her teacher 
considered a disgrace. She does not remember that she herself did. 

As a matter of fact her handwriting has always been illegible and I am 
very often able to read it when she is not. 

She has never been able or had any desire to indulge in any of the arts. 
She never knows how a thing is going to look until it is done, in arrang- 
ing a room, a garden, clothes or anything else. She cannot draw any- 
thing. She feels no relation between the object and the piece of paper. 
When at the medical school, she was supposed to draw anatomical things 
she never found out in sketching how a thing was made concave or 
convex. She remembers when she was very small she was to learn to 
draw and was sent to a class. The children were told to take a cup and 
saucer at home and draw them and the best drawing wpuld have as its 
reward a stamped leather medal and the next week the same medal 


would again be given for the best drawing. Gertrude Stein went home, 
told her brothers and they put a pretty cup and saucer before her and 
each one explained to her how to draw it. Nothing happened. Finally 
one of them drew it for her. She took it to the class and won the leather 
medal. And on the way home in playing some game she lost the leather 
medal. That was the end of the drawing class. 

She says it is a good thing to have no sense of how it is done in the 
things that amuse you. You should have one absorbing occupation and 
as for the other things in life for full enjoyment you should only con- 
template results. In this way you are bound to feel more about it than 
those who know a little of how it is done. 

She is passionately addicted to what the french call metier and she 
contends that one can only have one metier as one can only have one 
language. Her metier is writing and her language is english. 

Observation and construction make imagination, that is granting the 
possession of imagination, is what she has taught .many young writers. 
Once when Hemingway wrote in one of his stories that Gertrude Stein 
always knew what was good in a Cezanne, she looked at him and said, 
Hemingway, remarks are not literature. 

The young often when they have learnt all they can learn accuse her 
of an inordinate pride. She says yes of course. She realises that in english 
literature in her time she is the only one. She has always known it and 
now she says it. 

She understands very well the basis of creation and therefore her ad- 
vice and criticism is invaluable to all her friends. How often have I heard 
Picasso say to her when she has said something about a picture of his 
and then illustrated by something she was trying to do, racontez-moi 
cela. In other words tell me about it. These two even to-day have long 
solitary conversations. They sit in two little low chairs up in his apart- 
ment studio, knee to knee and Picasso says, expliquez-moi cela. And 
they explain to each other. They talk about everything, about pictures, 
about dogs, about death, about unhappiness. Because Picasso is a 
Spaniard and life is tragic and bitter and unhappy. Gertrude Stein often 
comes down to me and says, Pablo has been persuading me that I am 
as unhappy as he is. He insists that I am and with as much cause. But 
are you, I ask. Well I don't think I look it, do I, and she laughs. He says, 
she says, that I don't look it because I have more courage, but I don't 
think I am, she says, no I don't think I am. 


And so Gertrude Stein having been in Baltimore for a winter and 
having become more humanised and less adolescent and less lonesome 
went to Radcliffe. There she had a very good time. 

She was one of -a group of Harvard men and Radcliffe women and 
they all lived very closely and very interestingly together. One of them, 
a young philosopher and mathematician who was doing research work 
in psychology left a definite mark on her life. She and he together 
worked out a series of experiments in automatic writing under the direc- 
tion of Miinsterberg. The result of her own experiments, which Gertrude 
Stein wrote down and which was printed in the Harvard Psychological 
Review was the first writing of hers ever to be printed. It is very inter- 
esting to read because the method of writing to be afterwards developed 
in Three Lives and Making of Americans already shows itself. 

The important person in Gertrude Stein's Radcliffe life was William 
James. She enjoyed her life and herself. She was the secretary of the 
philosophical club and amused herself with all sorts of people. She liked 
making sport of question asking and she liked equally answering them. 
She liked it all. But the really lasting impression of her Radcliffe life 
came through William James. 

It is rather strange that she was not then at all interested in the work 
of Henry James for whom she now has a very great admiration and 
whom she considers quite definitely as her forerunner, he being the only 
nineteenth century writer who being an american felt the method of 
the twentieth century. Gertrude Stein always speaks of America as being 
now the oldest country in the world because by the methods of the civil 
war and the commercial conceptions that followed it America created 
the twentieth century, and since all the other countries are now either 
living or commencing to be- living a twentieth century of life, America 
having begun the creation of the twentieth century in the sixties of the 
nineteenth century is now the oldest country in the world. 
- In the same way she contends that Henry James was the first person 
in literature to find the way to the literary methods of the twentieth 
century. But oddly enough in all of her formative period she did not 
read him and was not interested in him. But as she often says one is 
always naturally antagonistic to one's parents and sympathetic to one's 
grandparents. The parents are too close, they hamper you, one must be 
alone. So perhaps that is the reason why only very lately Gertrude Stein 
reads Henry James. 


William James delighted her. His personality and his teaching and 
his way of amusing himself with himself and his students all pleased 
her. Keep your mind open, he used to say, and when some one objected, 
but Professor James, this that I say, is true. Yes, said James, it is abjectly 

Gertrude Stein never had subconscious reactions, nor was she a suc- 
cessful subject for automatic writing. One of the students in the psycho- 
logical seminar of which Gertrude Stein, although an undergraduate 
was at William James' particular request a member, was carrying on a 
series of experiments on suggestions to the subconscious. When he read 
his paper upon the result of his experiments, he began by explaining 
that one of the subjects gave absolutely no results and as this much 
lowered the average and made the conclusion of his experiments false 
he wished to be allowed to cut this record out. Whose record is it, said 
James. Miss Stein's, said the student. Ah, said James, if Miss Stein gave 
no response I should say that it was as normal not to give a response as to 
give one and decidedly the result must not be cut out. 

It was a very lovely spring day, Gertrude Stein had been going to the 
opera every night and going also to the opera in the afternoon and had 
been otherwise engrossed and it was the period of the final examinations, 
and there was the examination in William James' course. She sat down 
with the examination paper before her and she just could not. Dear 
Professor James, she wrote at the top of her paper. I am so sorry but 
really I do not feel a bit like an examination paper in philosophy to-day, 
and left. 

The next day she had a postal card from William James saying, Dear 
Miss Stein, I understand perfectly how you feel I often feel like that 
myself. And underneath it he gave her work the highest mark in his 

When Gertrude Stein was finishing her last year at Radcliffe, Wil- 
liam James one day asked her what she was going to do. She said she 
had no idea. Well, he said, it should be either philosophy or psychology. 
Now for philosophy you have to have higher mathematics and I don't 
gather that that has ever interested you. Now for psychology you must 
have a medical education, a medical education opens all doors, as Oliver 
Wendell Holmes told me and as I tell you. Gertrude Stein had been in- 
terested in both biology and chemistry and so medical scnool presented 
no difficulties. 


There were no difficulties except that Gertrude Stein had never passed 
more than half of her entrance examinations for Radcliffe, having never 
intended to take a degree. However with considerable struggle and 
enough tutoring that was accomplished and Gertrude, Stein entered 
Johns Hopkins Medical School. 

Some years after when Gertrude Stein and her brother were just be- 
ginning knowing Matisse and Picasso, William James came to Paris 
and they met. She went to see him at his hotel. He was enormously in- 
terested in what she was doing, interested in her writing and in the pic- 
tures she told him about. He went with her to her house to see them. 
He looked and gasped, I told you, he said, I always told you that you 
should keep your mind open. 

Only about two years ago a very strange thing happened. Gertrude 
Stein received a letter from a man in Boston. It was evident from the 
letter head that he was one of a firm of lawyers. He said in his letter that 
he had not long ago in reading in the Harvard library found that the 
library of William James had been given as a gift to the Harvard library. 
Among these books was the copy of Three Lives that Gertrude Stein 
had dedicated and sent to James. Also on the margins of the book were 
notes that William James had evidently made when reading the book. 
The man then went on to say that very likely Gertrude Stein would be 
very interested in these notes and he proposed, if she wished, to copy 
them out for her as he had appropriated the book, in other words taken 
it and considered it as his. We were very puzzled what to do about it. 
Finally a note was written saying that Gertrude Stein would like to 
have a copy of William James' notes. In answer came a manuscript the 
man himself had written and of which he wished Gertrude Stein to give 
him an opinion. Not knowing what to do about it all, Gertrude Stein 
did nothing. 

After having passed her entrance examinations she settled down in 
Baltimore and went to the medical school. She had a servant named 
Lena and it is her story that Gertrude Stein afterwards wrote as the 
first story of the Three Lives. 

The first two years of the medical school were alright. They were 
purely laboratory work and Gertrude Stein under Llewelys Barker im- 
mediately betook herself to research work. She began a study of all the 
brain tracts, the beginning of a comparative study. All this was later 
embodied in Llewelys Barker's book. She delighted in Doctor Mall, 


professor of anatomy, who directed her work. She always quotes his 
answer to any student excusing him or herself for anything. He would 
look reflective and say, yes that is just like our cook. There is alv/ays a 
reason. She never brings the food to the table hot. In summer of course 
she can't because it is too hot, in winter of course she can't because it is 
too cold, yes there is always a reason. Doctor Mall believed in everybody 
developing their own technique. He also remarked, nobody teaches any- 
body anything, at first every student's scalpel is dull and then later every 
student's scalpel is sharp, and nobody has taught anybody anything. 

These first two years at the medical school Gertrude Stein liked well 
enough. She always liked knowing a lot of people and being mixed up 
in a lot of stories and she was not awfully interested but she was not too 
bored with what she was doing and besides she had quantities of pleasant 
relatives in Baltimore and she liked it. The last two years at the medical 
school she was bored, frankly openly bored. There was a good deal of 
intrigue and struggle among the students, that she liked, but the prac- 
tice and theory of medicine did not interest her at all. It was fairly well 
known among all her teachers that she was bored, but as her first two 
years of scientific work had given her a reputation, everybody gave her 
the necessary credits and the end of her last year was approaching. It 
was then that she had to take her turn in the delivering of babies and 
it was at that time that she noticed the negroes and the places that she 
afterwards used in the second of the Three Lives stories, Melanctha 
Herbert, the story that was the beginning of her revolutionary work. 

As she always says of herself, she has a great deal of inertia and once 
started keeps going until she starts somewhere else. 

As the graduation examinations drew near some of her professors 
were getting angry. The big men like Halstead, Osier etcetera knowing 
her reputation for original scientific work made the medical examina- 
tions merely a matter of form and passed her. But there were others who 
were not so amiable. Gertrude Stein always laughed, and this was diffi- 
cult. They would ask her questions although as she said to her friends, 
it was foolish of them to ask her, when there were so many eager and 
anxious to answer. However they did question her from time to time 
and as she said, what could she do, she did not know the answers and 
they did not believe that she did not know them, they thought that she 
did not answer because she did not consider the professors worth an- 
swering. It was a difficult situation, as she said, it was 'impossible to 


apologise and explain to them that she was so bored she could not re- 
member the things that of course the dullest medical student could not 
forget. One of the professors said that although all the big men were 
ready to pass her he intended that she should be given a lesson and he 
refused to give her a pass mark and so she was not able to take her degree. 
There was great excitement in the medical school. Her very close friend 
Marion Walker pleaded with her, she said, but Gertrude Gertrude re- 
member the cause of women, and Gertrude Stein said, you don't know 
what it is to be bored. 

The professor who had flunked her asked her to come to see him. She 
did. He said, of course Miss Stein all you have to do is to take a summer 
course here and in the fall naturally you will take your degree. But not 
at all, said Gertrude Stein, you have no idea how grateful I am to you. 
I have so much inertia and so little initiative that very possibly if you 
had not kept me from taking my degree I would have, well, not taken 
to the practice of medicine, but at any rate to pathological psychology 
and you don't know how little I like pathological psychology, and how 
all medicine bores me. The professor was completely taken aback and 
that was the end of the medical education of Gertrude Stein. 

She always says she dislikes the abnormal, it is so obvious. She says 
the normal is so much more simply complicated and interesting. 

It was only a few years ago that Marion Walker, Gertrude Stein's old 
friend, came to see her at Bilignin where we spend the summer. She and 
Gertrude Stein had not met since those old days nor had they corre- 
sponded but they were as fond of each other and disagreed as violently 
about the cause of women as they did then. Not, as Gertrude Stein ek- 
plained to Marion Walker, that she at all minds the cause of women or 
any other cause but it does not happen to be her business. 

During these years at Radcliflfe and Johns Hopkins she often spent 
the summers in Europe. The last couple of years her brother had been 
settled in Florence and now that everything medical was over she joined 
him there and later they settled down in London for the winter. 

They settled in lodgings in London and were not uncomfortable. 
They knew a number of people through the Berensons, Bertrand Rus- 
sell, the Zangwills, then there was Willard (Josiah Flynt) who wrote 
Tramping With Tramps, and who knew all about London pubs, but 
Gertrude Stein was not very much amused. She began spending all her 
days in the British Museum reading the Elizabethans. She returned to 


her early loveof Shakespeare and the Elizabethans, and became absorbed 
in Elizabethan prose and particularly in the prose of Greene. She had 
little note-books full of phrases that pleased her as they had pleased her 
when she was a child. The rest of the time she^ wandered about the Lon- 
don streets and found them infinitely depressing and dismal. She never 
really got over this memory of London and never wanted to go back 
there, but in nineteen hundred and twelve she went over to see John 
Lane, the publisher and then living a very pleasant life and visiting very 
gay and pleasant people she forgot the old memory and became very 
fond of London. 

She always said that that first visit had made London just like Dickens 
and Dickens had always frightened her. As ^he says anything can 
frighten her and London when it was like Dickens certainly did. 

There were some compensations, there was the prose of Greene and it 
was at this time that she discovered the novels of Anthony Trollope, for 
her the greatest of the Victorians. She then got together the complete 
collection of his work some of it difficult to get and only obtainable in 
Tauchnitz and it is of this collection that Robert Coates speaks when he 
tells about Gertrude Stein lending books to young writers. She also 
bought a quantity of eighteen century memoirs among them the Creevy 
papers and Walpole and it is these that she loaned to Bravig Imbs when 
he wrote what she believes to be an admirable life of Chatterton. She 
reads books but she is not fussy about them, she cares about neither edi- 
tions nor make-up as long as the print is not too bad and she is not even 
very much bothered about that. It was at this time too that, as she says, 
she ceased to be worried about there being in the future nothing to read, 
she said she felt that she would always somehow be able to find some- 

But the dismalness of London and the drunken women and children 
and the gloom and the lonesomeness brought back all the melancholy of 
her adolescence and one day she said she was leaving for America and 
she left. She stayed in America the rest of the winter. In the meantime 
her brother also had left London and gone to Paris and there later sh'e 
joined him. She immediately began to write. She wrote a short novel. 

The funny thing about this short novel is that she completely forgot 
about it for many years. She remembered herself beginning a little later 
writing the Three Lives but this first piece of writing was completely 
forgotten, she had never mentioned it to me, even when I first knew 


her. She must have forgotten about it almost immediately. This spring 
just two days before our leaving for the country she was looking for 
some manuscript of The Making of Americans that she wanted to show 
Bernard Fay and she came across these two carefully written volumes 
of this completely forgotten first novel. She was very bashful and hesitant 
about it, did not really want to read it. Louis Bromfield was at the house 
that evening and she handed him the manuscript and said to him, you 
read it. 

5 1907-1914 

And so life in Paris began and as all roads lead to Paris, all of us are 
now there, and I can begin to tell what happened when I was of it. 

When I first came to Paris a friend and myself stayed in a little hotel 
in the boulevard Saint-Michel, then we took a small apartment in the 
rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs and then my friend went back to Cali- 
fornia and I joined Gertrude Stein in the rue de Fleurus. 

I had been at the rue de Fleurus every Saturday evening and I was 
there a great deal beside. I helped Gertrude Stein with the proofs of 
Three Lives and then I began to typewrite The Making of Americans. 
The little badly made french portable was not strong enough to type 
this big book and so we bought a large and imposing Smith Premier 
which at first looked very much out of place in the atelier but soon we 
were all used to it and it remained until I had an american portable, in 
short until after the war. 

As I said Fernande was the first wife of a genius I was to sit with. 
The geniuses came and talked to Gertrude Stein and the wives sat with 
me. How they unroll, an endless vista through the years. I began with 
Fernande and then there were Madame Matisse and Marcelle Braque 
and Josette Gris and Eve Picasso and Bridget Gibb and Marjory Gibb 
and Hadley and Pauline Hemingway and Mrs. Sherwood Anderson 
and Mrs. Bravig Imbs and the Mrs. Ford Madox Ford and endless 
others, geniuses, near geniuses and might be geniuses, all having wives, 
and I have sat and talked with them all all the wives and later on, well 
later on too, I have sat and talked with all. But I began with Fernande. 

I went too to the Casa Ricci in Fiesole with Gertrude Stein and her 
brother. How well I remember the first summer I stayed with them. We 
did charming things. Gertrude Stein and I took a Fiesole cab, I think 
it was the only one and drove in this old cab all the way to Siena. Ger- 
trude Stein had once walked it with a friend but in those hot italian 
days I preferred a cab. It was a charming trip. Then another time we 


1907-1914' 73 

went to Rome and we brought back a beautiful black renaissance plate. 
Maddalena, the old italian cook, came up to Gertrude Stein's bedroom 
one morning to bring the water for her bath. Gertrude Stein had the 
hiccoughs. But cannot the signora stop it, said Maddalena anxiously. 
No, said Gertrude Stein between hiccoughs. Maddalena shaking her 
head sadly went away. In a minute there was an awful crash. Up flew 
Maddalena, oh signora, signora, she said, I was so upset because the 
signora had the hiccoughs that I broke the black plate that the signora 
so carefully brought from Rome. Gertrude Stein began to swear, she 
has a reprehensible habit of swearing whenever anything unexpected 
happens and she always tells me she learned it in her youth in California, 
and as I am a loyal californian I can then say nothing. She swore and 
the hiccoughs ceased. Maddalena's face was wreathed in smiles. Ah the 
signorina, she said, she has stopped hiccoughing. Oh no I did not break 
the beautiful plate, I just made the noise of it and then said I did it to 
make the signorina stop hiccoughing. 

Gertrude Stein is awfully patient over the breaking of even her most 
cherished objects, it is I, I am sorry to say who usually break them. 
Neither she nor the servant nor the dog do, but then the servant never 
touches them, it is I who dust them and alas sometimes accidentally break 
them. I always beg her to promise to let me have them mended by an ex- 
pert before I tell her which it is that is broken, she always replies she gets 
no pleasure out of them if they are mended but alright have it mended 
and it is mended and it gets put away. She loves objects that are breakable, 
cheap objects and valuable objects, a chicken out of a grocery shop or a 
'pigeon out of a fair, one just broke this morning, this time it was not I 
who did it, she loves them all and she remembers them all but she knows 
that sooner or later they will break and she says that like books there 
are always more to find. However to me this is no consolation. She says 
she likes what she has and she likes the adventure of a new one. That 
is what she always says about young painters, about anything, once 
everybody knows they are good the adventure is over. And adds Picasso 
with a sigh, even after everybody knows they are good not any more 
people really like them than they did when only the few knew they were 

I did have to take one hot walk that summer. Gertrude Stein insisted 
that no one could go to Assisi except on foot. She has three favourite 
saints, Saint Ignatius Loyola, Saint Theresa of Avila and Saint Francis. 


I alas have only one favourite saint, Saint Anthony of Padua because it 
is he who finds lost objects and as Gertrude Stein's elder brother once 
said of me, if I were a general I would never lose a battle, I would only 
mislay it. Saint Anthony helps me find it. I always put a considerable 
sum in his box in every church I visit. At first Gertrude Stein objected 
to this extravagance but now she realises its necessity and if I am not 
with her she remembers Saint Anthony for me. 

It was a very hot italian day and we started as usual about noon, that 
being Gertrude Stein's favourite walking hour, because it was hottest 
and beside presumably Saint Francis had walked it then the oftenest 
as he had walked it at all hours. We started from Perugia across the hot 
valley. I gradually undressed, in those days one wore many more clothes 
than one does now, I even, which was most unconventional in those 
days, took off my stockings, but even so I dropped a few tears before 
we arrived and we did arrive. Gertrude Stein was very fond of Assisi 
for two reasons, because of Saint Francis and the beauty of his city and 
because the old women used to lead instead of a goat a little pig up and 
down the hills of Assisi. The little black pig was always decorated with 
a red ribbon. Gertrude Stein had always liked little pigs and she always 
said that in her old age she expected to wander up and down the hills 
of Assisi with a little black pig. She now wanders about the hills of the 
Ain with a large white dog and a small black one, so I suppose that does 
as well. 

She was always fond of pigs, and because of this Picasso made and 
gave her some charming drawings of the prodigal son among the pigs. 
And one delightful study of pigs all by themselves. It was about this 
time too that he made for her the tiniest of ceiling decorations on a tiny 
wooden panel and it was an hommage a Gertrude with women and 
angels bringing fruits and trumpeting. For years she had this tacked 
to the ceiling over her bed. It was only after the war that it was put 
upon the wall. 

But to return to the beginning of my life in Paris. It was based upon 
the rue de Fleurus and the Saturday evenings and it was like a kaleido- 
scope slowly turning. 

What happened in those early years. A great deal happened. 

As I said when I became an habitual visitor at the rue de Fleurus the 
Picassos were once more together, Pablo and Fernande. That summer 
they went again to Spain and he came back with some Spanish land- 

1907-1914 75 

scapes and one may say that these landscapes, two of them still at the 
rue de Fleurus and the other one in Moscow in the collection that 
Stchoukine founded and that is now national property, were the begin- 
ning of cubism. In these there was no african sculpture influence. There 
was very evidently a strong Cezanne influence, particularly the influence 
of the late Cezanne water colours, the cutting up the sky not in cubes 
but in spaces. 

But the essential thing, the treatment of the houses was essentially 
Spanish and therefore essentially Picasso. In these pictures he first em- 
phasised the way of building in Spanish villages, the line of the houses 
not following the landscape but cutting across and into the landscape, 
becoming undistinguishable in the landscape by cutting across the land- 
scape. It was the principle of the camouflage of the guns and the ships 
in the war. The first year of the war, Picasso and Eve, with whom he was 
living then, Gertrude Stein and myself, were walking down the boule- 
vard Raspail a cold winter evening. There is nothing in the world colder 
than the Raspail on a cold winter evening, we used to call it the retreat 
from Moscow. All of a. sudden down the street came some big cannon, 
the first any of us had seen painted, that is camouflaged. Pablo stopped, 
he was spell-bound. C'est nous qui avons fait a, he said, it is we that 
have created that, he said. And he was right, he had. From Cezanne 
through him they had come to that. His foresight was justified. 

But to go back to the three landscapes. When they were first put up 
on the wall naturally everybody objected. As it happened he and Fer- 
nande had taken some photographs of the villages which he had painted 
and he had given copies of these photographs to Gertrude Stein. When 
people said that the few cubes in the landscapes looked like nothing but 
cubes, Gertrude Stein would laugh and say, if you had objected to these 
landscapes as being too realistic there would be some point in your ob- 
jection. And she would show them the photographs and really the pic- 
tures as she rightly said might be declared to be too photographic a copy 
of nature. Years after Elliot Paul at Gertrude Stein's suggestion had a 
photograph of the painting by Picasso and the photographs of the vil- 
lage reproduced on the same page in transition and it was extraordinarily 
interesting. This then was really the beginning of cubism. The colour 
too was characteristically Spanish, the pale silver yellow with the faintest 
suggestion of green, the colour afterwards so well known in Picasso's 
cubist pictures, as well as in those of his followers. 


Gertrude Stein always says that cubism is a purely Spanish conception 
and only Spaniards can be cubists and that the only real cubism is that o 
Picasso and Juan Gris. Picasso created it and Juan Gris permeated it 
with his clarity and his exaltation. To understand this one has only to 
read the life and death of Juan Gris by Gertrude Stein, written upon 
the death of one of her two dearest friends, Picasso and Juan Gris, both 

She always says that americans can understand Spaniards. That they 
are the only two western nations that can realise abstraction. That in 
americans it expresses itself by disembodiedness, in literature and ma- 
chinery, in Spain by ritual so abstract that it does not connect itself with 
anything but ritual. 

I always remember Picasso saying disgustedly apropos of some ger- 
mans who said they liked bull-fights, they would, he said angrily, they 
like bloodshed. To a Spaniard it is not bloodshed, it is ritual. 

Americans, so Gertrude Stein says, are like Spaniards, they are abstract 
and cruel. They are not brutal they are cruel. They have no close con- 
tact with the earth such as most europeans have. Their materialism is 
not the materialism of existence, of possession, it is the materialism of 
action and abstraction. And so cubism is Spanish. 

We were very much struck, the first time Gertrude Stein and I went 
to Spain, which was a year or so after the beginning of cubism, to see 
how naturally cubism was made in Spain. In the shops in Barcelona in- 
stead of post cards they had square little frames and inside it was placed 
a cigar, a real one, a pipe, a bit of handkerchief etcetera, all absolutely 
the arrangement of many a cubist picture and helped out by cut paper 
representing other objects. That is the modern note that in Spain had 
been done for centuries. 

Picasso in his early cubist pictures used printed letters as did Juan 
Gris to force the painted surface to measure up to something rigid, and 
the rigid thing was the printed letter. Gradually instead of using the 
printed thing they painted the letters and all was lost, it was only Juan 
Gris who could paint with such intensity a printed letter that it still 
made the rigid contrast. And so cubism came little by little but it came. 

It was in these days that the intimacy between Braque and Picasso 
grew. It was in these days that Juan Gris, a raw rather effusive youth 
came from Madrid to Paris and began to call Picasso cher maitre to 
Picasso's great annoyance. It was apropos of this that Picasso used to 

1907-1914 77 

address Braque as cher maitre, passing on the joke, and I am sorry to 
say that some foolish people have taken this joke to mean that Picasso 
looked up to Braque as a master. 

But I am once more running far ahead of those early Paris days when 
I first knew Fernande and Pablo. 

In those days then only the three landscapes had been painted and he 
was beginning to paint some heads that seemed cut out in planes, also 
long loaves of bread. 

At this time Matisse, the school still going on, was really beginning 
to be fairly well known, so much so that to everybody's great excitement 
Bernheim jeune, a very middle class firm indeed, was offering him a 
contract to take all his work at a very good price. It was an exciting 

This was happening because of the influence of a man .named 
Feneon. II est tres fin/ said Matisse, much impressed by Feneon. 
Feneon was a journalist, a french journalist who had invented the thing 
called a feuilleton en deux lignes, that is to say he was the first one to hit 
off the news of the day in two lines. He looked like a caricature of Uncle 
Sam made french and he had been painted standing in front of a curtain 
in a circus picture by Toulouse-Lautrec. 

And now the Bernheims, how or wherefor I do not know, taking 
Feneon into their employ, were going to connect themselves with the 
new generation of painters. 

Something happened, at any rate this contract did not last long, but 
for all that it changed the fortunes of Matisse. He now had an established 
position. He bought a house and some land in Clamart and he started 
to move out there. Let me describe the house as I saw it. 

This home in Clamart was very comfortable, to be sure the bath-room, 
which the family much appreciated from long contact with americans, 
although it must be said that the Matisses had always been and always 
were scrupulously neat and clean, was on the ground floor adjoining 
the dining room. But that was alright, and is and was a french custom, 
in french houses. It gave more privacy to a bath-room to have it on the 
ground floor. Not so long ago in going over the new house Braque was 
building the bath-room was again below, this time underneath the din- 
ing room. When we said, but why, they said because being nearer the 
furnace it would be warmer. 

The grounds at Clamart were large and the garden was what Matisse 


between pride and chagrin called un petit Luxembourg. There was also 
a glass forcing house for flowers. Later they had begonias in them that 
grew smaller and smaller. Beyond were lilacs and still beyond a big de- 
mountable studio. They liked it enormously. Madame Matisse with 
simple recklessness went out every day to look at it and pick flowers, 
keeping a cab waiting for her. In those days only millionaires kept cabs 
waiting and then only very occasionally. 

They moved out and were very comfortable and soon the enormous 
studio was filled with enormous statues and enormous pictures. It was 
that period of Matisse. Equally soon he found Clamart so beautiful that 
he could not go home to it, that is when he came into Paris to his hour 
of sketching from the nude, a thing he had done every afternoon of his 
life ever since the beginning of things, and he came in every afternoon. 
His school no longer existed, the government had taken over the old 
convent to make a Lycee of it and the school fcad come to an end. 

These were the beginning of very prosperous days for the Matisses. 
They went to Algeria and they went to Tangiers and their devoted 
german pupils gave them Rhine wines and a very fine black police dog, 
the first of the breed that any of us had seen. 

And then Matisse had a great show of his pictures in Berlin. I remem- 
ber so well one spring day, it was a lovely day and we were to lunch at 
Clamart with the Matisses. When we got there they were all standing 
around an enormous packing case with its top off. We went up and 
joined them and there in the packing case was the largest laurel wreath 
that had ever been made, tied with a beautiful red ribbon. Matisse 
showed Gertrude Stein a card that had been in it. It said on it, To Henri 
Matisse, Triumphant on the Battlefield of Berlin, and was signed 
Thomas Whittemore. Thomas Whittemore was a bostonian archeologist 
and professor at Tufts College, a great admirer of Matisse and this 
was his tribute. Said Matisse, still more rueful, but I am not dead yet. 
Madame Matisse, the shock once over said, but Henri look, and leaning 
down she plucked a leaf and tasted it, it is real laurel, think how good 
it will be in soup. And, said she still further brightening, the ribbon will 
do wonderfully for a long time as hair ribbon for Margot. 

The Matisses stayed in Clamart more or less until the war. During this 
period they and Gertrude Stein were seeing less and less of each other. 
Then after the war broke out they came to the house a good deal. They 
were lonesome and troubled, Matisse's family in Saint-Quentin, in the 

1907-1914 79 

north, were within the german lines and his brother was a hostage. It 
was Madame Matisse who taught me how to knit woollen gloves. She 
made them wonderfully neatly and rapidly and I learned to do so too. 
Then Matisse went to live in Nice and in one way and another, although 
remaining perfectly good friends, Gertrude Stein and the Matisses never 
see each other. 

The Saturday evenings in those early days were frequented by many 
hungarians, quite a number of germans, quite a few mixed nationalities, 
a very thin sprinkling of americans and practically no english. These 
were to commence later, and with them came aristocracy of all countries 
and even some royalty. 

Among the germans who used to come in those early days was Pascin. 
He was at that time a thin brilliant-looking creature, he already had a 
considerable reputation as maker of neat little caricatures in Simplicis- 
simus, the most lively of the german comic papers. The other germans 
told strange stories of him. That he had been brought up in a house of 
prostitution of unknown and probably royal birth, etcetera. 

He and Gertrude Stein had not met since those early days but a few 
years ago they saw each other at the vernissage of a young dutch painter 
Kristians Tonny who had been a pupil of Pascin and in whose work 
Gertrude Stein was then interested. They liked meeting each other and 
had a long talk. 

Pascin was far away the most amusing of the germans although I can- 
not quite say that because there was Uhde. 

Uhde was undoubtedly well born, he was not a blond german, he was 
a tallish thin dark man with a high forehead and an excellent quick wit. 
When he first came to Paris he went to every antiquity shop and bric-a- 
brac shop in the town in order to see what he could find. He did not find 
much, he found what purported to be an Ingres, he found a few very 
early Picassos, but perhaps he found other things. At any rate when the 
war broke out he was supposed to have been one of the super spies and 
to have belonged to the german staff. 

He was said to have been seen near the french war office after the 
declaration of war, undoubtedly he and a friend had a summer hpme 
very near what was afterward the Hindenburg line. Well at any rate he 
was very pleasant and very amusing. He it was who was the first to com- 
mercialise the douanier Rousseau's pictures. He kept a kind of private 
art shop. It was here that Braque and Picasso went to see him in their 


newest and roughest clothes and in their best Cirque Medrano fashion 
kept up a constant fire of introducing each other to him and asking each 
other to introduce each other. 

Uhde used often to come Saturday evening accompanied by very tall 
blond good-looking young men who clicked their heels and bowed and 
then all evening stood solemnly at attention. They made a very effective 
background to the rest of the crowd. I remember one evening when the 
son of the great scholar Breal and his very amusing clever wife brought 
a Spanish guitarist who wanted to come and play. Uhde and his body- 
guard were the background and it came on to be a lively evening, the 
guitarist played and Manolo was there. It was the only time I ever saw 
Manolo the sculptor, by that time a legendary -figure in Paris. Picasso 
very lively undertook to dance a southern Spanish dance not too respect- 
able, Gertrude Stein's brother did the dying dance of Isadora, .it was 
very lively, Fernande and Pablo got into a discussion about Frederic of 
the Lapin Agile and apaches. Fernande contended that the apaches were 
better than the artists and her forefinger went up in the air. Picasso said, 
yes apaches of course have their universities, artists do not. Fernande got 
angry and shook him and said, you think you are witty, but you are only 
stupid. He ruefully showed that she had shaken off a button and she 
very angry said, and you, your only claim to distinction is that you are a 
precocious child. Things were not in those days going any too well be- 
tween them, it was just -about the time that they were quitting the rue 
Ravignan to live in an apartment in the boulevard Clichy, where they 
were to have a servant and to be prosperous. 

But to return to Uhde and first to Manolo. Manolo was perhaps Pi- 
casso's oldest friend. He was a strange Spaniard. He, so the legend said, 
was the brother of one of the greatest pickpockets in Madrid. Manolo 
himself was gentle and admirable. He was the only person in Paris with 
whom Picasso spoke Spanish. All the other Spaniards had french wives 
or french mistresses and having so much the habit of speaking french 
they always talked french to each other. This always seemed very strange 
to me. However Picasso and Manolo always talked Spanish to each other. 

There were many stories about Manolo, he had always loved and he 
had always lived under the protection of the saints. They told the story 
of how when he first came to Paris he entered the first church he saw 

and there he saw a woman bring a chair to some one and receive money. 

1907-1914 81 

So Manolo did the same, he went into many churches and always gave 
everybody a chair and always got money, until one day he was caught 
by the woman whose business it was and whose chairs they were and 
there was trouble. 

He once was hard up and he proposed to his friends to take lottery 
tickets for one of his statues, everybody agreed, and then when every- 
body met they found they all had the same number. When they re- 
proached him he explained that he did this because he knew his friends 
would be unhappy if they did not all have the same number. He was 
supposed to have left Spain while he was doing his military service, that 
is to say he was in the cavalry and he went across the border, and sold 
his horse and his accoutrement, and so had enough money to come to 
Paris and be a sculptor. He once was left for a few days in the house of a 
friend of Gauguin. When the owner of the house came back all his Gau- 
guin souvenirs and all his Gauguin sketches were gone. Manolo had sold 
them to Vollard and Vollard had to give them back. Nobody minded. 
Manolo was like a sweet crazy religiously uplifted Spanish beggar and 
everybody was fond of him. Morcas, the greek poet, who in those days 
was a very well known figure in Paris was very fond of him and used 
to take him with him for company whenever he had anything to do. 
Manolo always went in hopes of getting a meal but he used to be left 
ito wait while Moreas ate. Manolo was always patient and always hopeful 
although Moreas was as well known then as Guillaume Apollinaire was 
later, to pay rarely or rather not at all. 

Manolo used to make statues for joints in Montmartre in return for 
meals etcetera, until Alfred Stieglitz heard of him and showed his things 
in New York and sold some of them and then Manolo returned to the 
french frontier, Ceret and there he has lived ever since, turning night 
into day, he and his Catalan wife. 

But Uhde. Uhde one Saturday evening presented his fiancee to Ger- 
trude Stein. Uhde's morals were not all that they should be and as his 
fiancee seemed a very well to do and very conventional young woman 
we were all surprised. But it turned out that it was an arranged mar- 
riage. Uhde wished to respectabilise himself and she wanted to come 
into possession of her inheritance, which she could only do upon mar- 
riage. Shortly after she married Uhde and shortly after they were 
divorced. She then married Delaunay the painter who was just then 


coming into the foreground. He was the founder of the first of the many 
vulgarisations of the cubist idea, the painting of houses out of plumb, 
what was called the catastrophic school. 

Delaunay was a big blond frenchman. He had a lively little mother. 
She used to come to the rue de Fleurus with old vicomtes who looked 
exactly like one's youthful idea of what an old french marquis should 
look like. These always left their cards and then wrote a solemn note of 
thanks and never showed in any way how entirely out of place they 
must have felt. Delaunay himself was amusing. He was fairly able and 
inordinately ambitious. He was always asking how old Picasso had been 
when he had painted a certain picture. When he was told he always said, 
oh I am not as old as that yet. I will do as much when I am that age. 

As a matter of fact he did progress very rapidly. He used to come a 
great deal to the rue de Fleurus. Gertrude Stein used to delight in him. 
He was funny and he painted one rather fine picture, the three graces 
standing in front of Paris, an enormous picture in which he combined 
everybody's ideas and added a certain french clarity and freshness of his 
own. It had a rather remarkable atmosphere and it had a great success. 
After that his pictures lost all quality, they grew big and empty or small 
and empty. I remember his bringing one of these small ones to the house, 
saying, look I am bringing you a small picture, a jewel. It is small, said 
Gertrude Stein, but is it a jewel. 

It was Delaunay who married the ex-wife of Uhde and they kept up 
quite an establishment. They took up Guillaume Apollinaire and it was 
he who taught them how to cook and how to live. Guillaume was ex- 
traordinary. Nobody but Guillaume, it was the italian in Guillaume, 
Stella the New York painter could do the same thing in his early youth 
in Paris, could make fun of his hosts, make fun of their guests, make 
fun of their food and spur them to always greater and greater effort. 

It was Guillaume's first opportunity to travel, he went to Germany 
with Delaunay and thoroughly enjoyed himself. 

Uhde used to delight in telling how his former wife came to his 
house one day and dilating upon Delaunay 's future career, explained to 
him that he should abandon Picasso and Braque, the past, and devote 
himself to the cause of Delaunay, the future. Picasso and Braque at this 
time it must be remembered were not yet thirty years old. Uhde told 
everybody this story with a great many witty additions and always add- 
ing, I tell you all this sans discretion, that is tell it to everybody. 

1907-1914 83 

The other german who came to the house in those days was a dull one. 
He is, I understand a very important man now in his own country and 
he was a most faithful friend to Matisse, at all times, even during the 
war. He was the bulwark of the Matisse school. Matisse was not always 
or indeed often very kind to him. All women loved him, so it was sup- 
posed. He was a stocky Don Juan. I remember one big Scandinavian 
who loved him and who would never come in on Saturday evening but 
stood in the court and whenever the door opened for some one to come 
in or go out you could see her smile in the dark of the court like the 
smile of the Cheshire cat. He was always bothered by Gertrude Stein. 
She did and bought such strange things. He never dared to criticise any- 
thing to her but to me he would say, and you, Mademoiselle, do you, 
pointing to the despised object, do you find that beautiful. 

Once when we were in Spain, in fact the first time we went to Spain, 
Gertrude Stein had insisted upon buying in Cuenca a brand new enor- 
mous turtle made of Rhine stones. She had very lovely old jewellery, but 
with great satisfaction to herself she was wearing this turtle as a clasp. 
Purrmann this time was dumbfounded. He got me into a corner. That 
jewel, he said, that Miss Stein is wearing, are those stones real. 

Speaking of Spain also reminds me that once we were in a crowded 
restaurant. Suddenly in the end of the room a tall form stood up and a 
man bowed solemnly at Gertrude Stein who as solemnly replied. It was 
a stray hungarian from Saturday evening, surely. 

There was another german whom I must admit we both liked. This 
was much later, about nineteen twelve. He too was a dark tall german. 
He talked english, he was a friend of Marsden Hartley whom we liked 
very much, and we liked his german friend, I cannot say that we did not. 

He used to describe himself as the rich son of a not so rich father. In 
other words he had a large allowance from a moderately poor father 
who was a university professor. Ronnebeck was charming and he was 
always invited to dinner. He was at dinner one evening when Berenson 
the famous critic of Italian art was there. Ronnebeck had brought with 
him some photographs of pictures by Rousseau. He had left them in the 
atelier and we were all in the dining room. Everybody began to talk 
about Rousseau. Berenson was puzzled, but Rousseau, Rosseau, he said, 
Rousseau was an honourable painter but why all this excitement. Ah, 
he said with a sigh, fashions change, that I know, but really I never 
thought that Rousseau would come to be the fashion for the young. 


Berenson had a tendency to be supercilious and so everybody let him go 
on and on. Finally Ronnebeck said gently, but perhaps Mr. Berenson, 
you have never heard of the great Rousseau, the douanier Rousseau. No, 
admitted Berenson, he hadn't, and later when he saw the photographs he 
understood less than ever and was fairly fussed. Mabel Dodge who was 
present, said, but Berenson, you must remember that art is inevitable. 
That, said Berenson recovering himself, you understand, you being your- 
self a femrhe fatale. 

We were fond of Ronnebeck and beside the first time he came to the 
house he quoted some of Gertrude Stein's recent work to her. She had 
loaned some manuscript to Marsden Hartley. It was the first time that 
anybody had quoted her work to her and she naturally liked it. He also 
made a translation into german of some of the portraits she was writing 
at that time and thus brought her her first international reputation. 
That however is not quite true, Roche the faithful Roche had introduced 
some*young germans to Three Lives and they were already under its 
spell. However Ronnebeck was charming and we were very fond of 

Ronnebeck was a sculptor, he did small full figure portraits and was 
doing them very well, he was in love with an american girl who was 
studying music. He liked France and all french things and he was very 
fond of us. We all separated as usual for the summer. He said he had a 
very amusing summer before him. He had a commission to do a portrait 
figure of a countess and her two sons, the little counts and he was to 
spend the summer doing this in the home of the countess who had a 
magnificent place on the shores of the Baltic. 

When we all came back that winter Ronnebeck was different. In the 
first place he came back with lots of photographs of ships of the german 
navy and insisted upon showing them to us. We were not interested. 
Gertrude Stein said, of course, Ronnebeck, you have a navy, of course, 
we americans have a navy, everybody has a navy, but to anybody but 
the navy, one big ironclad looks very much like any other, don't be silly. 
He was different though. He had had a good time. He had photos of 
himself with all the counts and there was also one with the crown prince 
of Germany who was a great friend of the countess. The winter, it was 
the winter of 1913-1914, wore on. All the usual things happened and we 
gave as usual some dinner parties. I have forgotten what the occasion of 
one was but we thought Ronnebeck would do excellently for it. We in- 

1907-1914 85 

vited him. He sent word that he had to go to Munich for two days but 
he would travel at night and get back for the dinner party. This he did 
and was delightful as he always was. 

Pretty soon he went off on a trip to the north, to visit the cathedral 
towns. When he came back he brought us a series of photographs of all 
these northern towns seen from above. What are these, Gertrude Stein 
asked. Oh, he said, I thought you would be interested, they are views I 
have taken of all the cathedral towns. I took them from the tip top of 
the steeples and I thought you would be interested because see, he said, 
they look exactly like the pictures of the followers of Delaunay, what 
you call the earthquake school, he said turning to me. We thanked him 
and thought no more about it. Later when during the war I found them, 
I tore them up in a rage. 

Then we all began to talk about our summer plans. Gertrude Stein 
was to go to London in July to see John Lane to sign the contract for 
Three Lives. Ronnebeck said, why don't you come to Germany instead 
or rather before or immediately after, he said. Because, said Gertrude 
Stein, as you know I don't like germans. Yes I know, said Ronnebeck, I 
know, but you like me and you would have such a wonderful time. 
They would be so interested and it would mean so much to them, do 
come, he said. No, said Gertrude Stein, I like you alright but I don't 
like germans. 

We went to England in July and when we got there Gertrude Stein 
had a letter from Ronnebeck saying that he still awfully wanted us to 
come to Germany but since we wouldn't had we not better spend the 
summer in England or perhaps in Spain but not as we had planned come 
back to Paris. That was naturally the end. I tell the story for what it is 

When I first came to Paris there was a very small sprinkling of amer- 
icans Saturday evenings, this sprinkling grew gradually more abundant 
but before I tell about americans I must tell all about the banquet to 

In the beginning of my stay in Paris a friend and I were living as I 
have already said in a little apartment on the rue Notre-Dame-des- 
Champs. I was no longer taking french lessons from Fernande because 
she and Picasso were together again but she was not an infrequent vis- 
itor. Autumn had come and I can remember it very well because I had 
bought my first winter Paris hat. It was a very fine hat of black velvet, 


a big hat with a brilliant yellow fantaisie. Even Fernande gave it her 

Fernande was lunching with us one day and she said that there was 
going to be a banquet given for Rousseau and that she was giving it. 
She counted up the number of the invited. We were included. Who was 
Rousseau. I did not know but that really did not matter since it was to 
be a banquet and everybody was to go, and we were invited. 

Next Saturday evening at the rue de Fleurus everybody was talking 
about the banquet to Rousseau and then I found out that Rousseau was 
the painter whose picture I had seen in that first independent. It ap- 
peared that Picasso had recently found in Montmartre a large portrait 
of a woman by Rousseau, that he had bought it and that this festivity 
was in honour of the purchase and the painter. It was going to be very 

Fernande told me a great deal about the menu. There was to be riz a 
la Valenciennes, Fernande had learnt how to cook this on her last trip 
to Spain, and then she had ordered, I forget now what it was that she 
had ordered, but she had ordered a great deal at Felix Potin, the chain 
store of groceries where they made prepared dishes. Everybody was ex- 
cited. It was Guillaume Apollinaire, as I remember, who knowing Rous- 
seau very well had induced him to promise to come and was to bring 
him and everybody was to write poetry and songs and it was to be very 
rigolo, a favourite Montmartre word meaning a jokeful amusement. We 
were all to meet at the cafe at the foot of the rue Ravignan and to have 
an aperitif and then go up to Picasso's atelier and have dinner. I put on 
my new hat and we all went to Montmartre and all met at the cafe. 

As Gertrude Stein and I came into the cafe there seemed to be a great 
many people present and in the midst was a tall thin girl who with her 
long thin arms extended was swaying forward and back. I did not know 
what she was doing, it was evidently not gymnastics, it was bewildering 
but she looked very enticing. What is that, I whispered to Gertrude Stein. 
Oh that is Marie Laurencin, I am afraid she had been taking too many 
preliminary aperitifs. Is she the old lady that Fernande told me about 
who makes noises like animals and annoys Pablo. She annoys Pablo al- 
right but she is a very young lady and she has had too much, said Ger- 
trude Stein going in. Just then there was a violent noise at the door of 
the cafe and Fernande appeared very large, very excited and very angry. 
Felix Potin, said she, has not sent the dinner. Everybody seemed over- 

1907-1914 87 

come at these awful tidings but I, in my american way said to Fernande, 
come quickly, let us telephone. In those days in Paris one did not tele- 
phone and never to a provision store. But Fernande consented and off 
we went. Everywhere we went there was either no telephone or it was 
not working, finally we got one that worked but Felix Potin was closed 
or closing and it was deaf to our appeals. Fernande was completely upset 
but finally I persuaded her to tell me just what we were to have had 
from Felix Potin and then in one little shop and another little shop in 
Montmartre we found substitutes, Fernande finally announcing that she 
had made so much riz a la Valenciennes that it would take the place of 
everything and it did. 

When we were back at the cafe almost everybody who had been there 
had gone and some new ones had come, Fernande told them all to come 
along. As we toiled up the hill we saw in front of us the whole crowd. 
In the middle was Marie Laurencin supported on the one side by Ger- 
trude Stein and on the other by Gertrude Stein's brother and she was 
falling first into one pair of arms and then into another, her voice always 
high and sweet and her arms always thin graceful and long. Guillaume 
of course was not there, he was' to bring Rousseau himself after every 
one was seated. 

Fernande passed this slow moving procession, I following her and 
we arrived at the atelier. It was rather impressive. They had gotten tres- 
tles, carpenter's trestles, and on them had placed boards and all around 
these boards were benches. At the head of the table was the new acquisi- 
tion, the Rousseau, draped in flags and wreaths and flanked on either 
side by big statues, I do not remember what statues. It was very mag- 
nificent and very festive. The riz a la Valenciennes was presumably 
cooking below in Max Jacob's studio. Max not being on good terms with 
Picasso was not present but they used his studio for the rice and for the 
men's overcoats. The ladies were to put theirs in the front studio which 
had been Van Dongen's in his spinach days and now belonged to a 
frenchman by the name of Vaillant. This was the studio which was later 
t6 be Juan Gris'. 

I had just time to deposit my hat and admire the arrangements, Fer- 
nande violently abusing Marie Laurencin all the time, when the crowd 
arrived. Fernande large and imposing, barred the way, she was not going 
to have her party spoiled by Marie Laurencin. This was a serious party, 
a serious banquet for Rousseau and neither she nor Pablo would tolerate 


such conduct. Of course Pablo, all this time, was well out of sight in the 
rear. Gertrude Stein remonstrated, she said half in english half in french, 
that she would be hanged if after the struggle of getting Marie Lauren- 
cin up that terrific hill it was going to be for nothing. No indeed and 
beside she reminded Fernande that Guillaume and Rousseau would be 
along any minute and it was necessary that every one should be decor- 
ously seated before that event. By this time Pablo had made his way to 
the front and he joined in and said, yes yes, and Fernande yielded. She 
was always a little afraid of Guillaume Apollinaire, of his solemnity and 
of his wit, and they all came in. Everybody sat down. 

Everybody sat down and everybody began to eat rice and other things, 
that is as soon as Guillaume Apollinaire and Rqusseau came in which 
they did very presently and were wildly acclaimed. How well I remem- 
ber their coming. Rousseau a little small colourless frenchman with a 
little beard, like any number of frenchmen one saw everywhere. Guil- 
laume Apollinaire with finely cut florid features, dark hair and a beauti- 
ful complexion. Everybody was presented and everybody sat down again. 
Guillaume slipped into a seat beside Marie Laurencin. At the sight of 
Guillaume, Marie who had become comparatively calm seated next to 
Gertrude Stein, broke out again in wild movements and outcries. Guil- 
laume got her out of the door and downstairs and after a decent interval 
they came back Marie a little bruised but sober. By this time everybody 
had eaten everything and poetry began. Oh yes, before this Frederic of 
the Lapin Agile and the University of Apaches had wandered in with 
his usual companion a donkey, was given a drink and wandered out 
again. Then a little later some Italian street singers hearing of the party 
came in. Fernande rose at the end of the table and flushed and her fore- 
finger straight into the air said it was not that kind of a party, and they 
were promptly thrown out. 

Who was there. We were there and Salmon, Andre Salmon, then a 
rising young poet and journalist, Pichot and Germaine Pichot, Braque 
and perhaps Marcelle Braque but this I do not remember, I know that 
there was talk of her at that time, the Raynals, the Ageros the false Greco 
and his wife, and several other pairs whol did not know and do not 
remember and Vaillant, a very amiable ordinary young frenchman who 
had the front studio. 

The ceremonies began. Guillaume Apollinaire gdt up and made a sol- 
emn eulogy, I do not remember at all what he said but it ended up 

1907-1914 89 

with a poem he had written and which he half chanted and in which 
everybody joined in the refrain, La peinture de ce Rousseau. Somebody 
else then, possibly Raynal, I don't remember, got up and there were 
toasts, and then all of a sudden Andre Salmon who was sitting next to 
my friend and solemnly discoursing of literature and travels, leaped upon 
the by no means solid table and poured out an extemporaneous eulogy 
and poem. At the end he seized a big glass and drank what was in it, 
then promptly went off his head, being completely drunk, and began to 
fight. The men all got hold of him, the statues tottered, Braque, a great 
big chap, got hold of a statue in either arm and stood there holding 
them while Gertrude Stein's brother another big chap, protected little 
Rousseau and his violin from harm. The others with Picasso leading be- 
cause Picasso though small is very strong, dragged Salmon into the front 
atelier and locked him in. Everybody came back and sat down. 

Thereafter the evening was peaceful. Marie Laurencin sang in a thin 
voice some charming old norman songs. The wife of Agero sang some 
charming old limousin songs, Pichot danced a wonderful religious Span- 
ish dance ending in making of himself a crucified Christ upon the floor. 
Guillaume Apollinaire solemnly approached myself and my friend and 
asked us to sing some of the native songs of the red indians. We did 
not either of us feel up to that to the great regret of Guillaume and all 
the company. Rousseau blissful and gentle played the violin and told us 
about the plays he had written and his memories of Mexico. It was all 
very peaceful and about three o'clock in the morning we all went into 
the atelier where Salmon had been deposited and where we had left our 
hats and coats to get them to go home. There on the couch lay Salmon 
peacefully sleeping and surrounding him, half chewed, were a box of 
matches, a petit bleu and my yellow fantaisie. Imagine my feelings even 
at three o'clock in the morning. However, Salmon woke up very charm- 
ing and very polite and we all went out into the street together. All of 
a sudden with a wild yell Salmon rushed down the hill. 

Gertrude Stein and her brother, my friend and I, all in one cab, took 
Rousseau home. 

It was about a month later that one dark Paris winter afternoon I was 
hurrying home and felt myself being followed. I hurried and hurried and 
the footsteps drew nearer and I heard, mademoiselle, mademoiselle. I 
turned. It was Rousseau. Oh mademoiselle, he said, you should not be 
out alone after dark, may I see you home. Which he did. 


It was not long after this that Kahnweiler came to Paris. Kahnweiler 
was a german married to a frenchwoman and they had lived for many 
years in England. Kahnweiler had been in England in business, saving 
money to carry out a dream of some day having a picture shop in Paris. 
The time had come and he started a neat small gallery in the rue Vignon. 
He felt his way a little and then completely threw in his lot with the 
cubist group. There were difficulties at first, Picasso always suspicious 
did not want to go too far with him. Fernande did the bargaining with 
Kahnweiler but finally they all realised the genuineness of his interest 
and his faith, and that he could and would market their work.- They all 
made contracts with him and until the war he did everything for them 
all. The afternoons with the group coming in and out of his shop were 
for Kahnweiler really afternoons with Vasari. He believed in them 
and their future greatness. It was only the year before the war that he 
added Juan Gris. It was just two months before the outbreak of the war 
that Gertrude Stein saw the first Juan Gris paintings- at Kahnweiler's 
and bought three of them. 

Picasso always says that he used in those days to tell Kahnweiler that 
he should become a french citizen, that war would come and there would 
be the devil to pay. Kahnweiler always said he would when he had 
passed the military age but that he naturally did not want to do military 
service a second time. The war came, Kahnweiler was in Switzerland 
with his family on his vacation and he could not come back. All his pos- 
sessions were sequestrated. 

The auction sale by the government of Kahnweiler's pictures, prac- 
tically all the cubist pictures of the three years before the war, was the 
first occasion after the war where everybody of the old crowd met. There 
had been quite a conscious effort on the part of all the older merchants, 
now that the war was over, to kill cubism. The expert for the sale, who 
was a well known picture dealer, had avowed this as his intention. He 
would keep the prices down as low as possible and discourage the public 
as much as possible. How could the artists defend themselves. 

We happened to be with the Braques a day or two before the public 
show of pictures for the sale and Marcelle Braque, Braque's wife, told us 
that they had come to a decision. Picasso and Juan Gris could do noth- 
ing they were Spaniards, and this was a french government sale. Marie 
Laurencin was technically a german, Lipschitz was a russian at that 
time not a popular thing to be. Braque a frenchman, who had won the 

1907-1914 91 

croix de guerre in a charge, who had been made an officer and had won 
the legion d'honneur and had had a bad head wound could do what 
he pleased. He had a technical reason too for picking a quarrel with the 
expert. He had sent in a list of people likely to buy his pictures, a privi- 
lege always accorded to an artist whose pictures are to be publicly sold, 
and catalogues had not been sent to these people. When we arrived 
Braque had already done his duty. We came in just at the end of the 
fray. There was a great excitement. 

Braque had approached the expert and told him that he had neglected 
his obvious duties. The expert had replied that he had done and would 
do as he pleased and called Braque a norman pig. Braque had hit him. 
Braque is a big man and the expert is not and Braque tried not to hit 
hard but nevertheless the expert fell. The police came in and they were 
taken oil to the police station. There they told their story. Braque of 
course as a hero of the war was treated with all due respect, and when 
he spoke to the expert using the familiar thou the expert completely lost 
his temper and his head and was publicly rebuked by the magistrate. 
Just after it was over Matisse came in and wanted to know what had 
happened and was happening, Gertrude Stein told him. Matisse said, 
and it was a Matisse way to say it, Braque a raison, celui-la a vole la 
France, et on sait bien ce que c'est que voler la France. 

As a matter of fact the buyers were frightened off and all the pictures 
except those of Derain went for little. Poor Juan Gris whose pictures 
went for very little tried to be grave. They after all did bring an honour- 
able price, he said to Gertrude Stein, but he was sad. 

Fortunately Kahnweiler, who had not fought against France, was al- 
lowed to come back the next year. The others no longer needed him 
but Juan needed him desperately and Kahnweiler's loyalty and gener- 
osity to Juan Gris all those hard years can only be matched by Juan's 
loyalty and generosity when at last just before his death and he had be- 
come famous tempting offers from other dealers were made to him. 

Kahnweiler coming to Paris and taking on commercially the cause of 
the cubists made a great difference to all of them. Their present and 
future were secure. 

The Picassos moved from the old studio in the rue Ravignan to an 
apartment in the boulevard Clichy. Fernande began to buy furniture 
and have a servant and the servant of course made a souffle. It was a nice 
apartment with lots of sunshine. On the whole however Fernande was 


not quite as happy as she had been. There were a great many people 
there and even afternoon tea. Braque was there a great deal, it was the 
height of the intimacy between Braque and Picasso, it was at that time 
they first began to put musical instruments into their pictures. It- was 
also the beginning of Picasso's making constructions. He made still lifes 
of objects and photographed them. He made paper constructions later, 
he gave one of these to Gertrude Stein. It is perhaps the only one left in 

This was also the time when I first heard of Poiret. He had a house- 
boat on the Seine and he had given a party on it and he had invited 
Pablo and Fernande. He gave Fernande a handsome rose-coloured scarf 
with gold fringe and he also gave her a spun glass fantaisie to put on a 
hat, an entirely new idea in those days. This she gave to me and I wore 
it on a little straw pointed cap for years after. I may even have it now. 

Then there was the youngest of the cubists. I never knew his name. 
He was doing his military service and was destined for diplomacy. How 
he drifted in and whether he painted I do not know. All I know is that 
he was known as the youngest of the cubists. 

Fernande had at this time a new friend of whom she often spoke to 
me. This was Eve who was living with Marcoussis. And one evening all 
four of them came to the rue de Fleurus, Pablo, Fernande, Marcoussis 
and Eve. It was the only time we ever saw Martoussis until many many 
years later. 

I could perfectly understand Fernande's liking for Eve. As I said Fer- 
nande's great heroine was Evelyn Thaw, small and negative. Here was 
a little french Evelyn Thaw, small and perfect. 

Not long after this Picasso came one day and told Gertrude Stein that 
he had decided to take an atelier in the rue Ravignan. He could work 
better there. He could not get back his old one but he took one on the 
lower floor. One day we went to see him there. He was not in and 
Gertrude Stein as a joke left her visiting card. In a few days we went 
again and Picasso was at work on a picture on which was written ma 
jolie and at the lower corner painted in was Gertrude Stein's visiting 
card. As we went away Gertrude Stein said, Fernande is certainly not 
ma jolie, I wonder who it is. In a few days we knew. Pablo had gone off 
with Eve. 

This was in the spring. They all had the habit of going to Ceret near 
Perpignan for the summer probably on account of Manolo, and they all 

1907-1914 93 

in spite of everything went there again. Fernande was there with the 
Pichots and Eve was there with Pablo. There were some redoubtable 
battles and then everybody came back to Paris. 

One evening, we too had come back, Picasso came in. He and Ger- 
trude Stein had a long talk alone. It was Pablo, she said when she came 
in from having bade him goodbye, and he said a marvellous thing about 
Fernande, he said her beauty always held him but he could not stand 
any of her little ways. She further added that Pablo and Eve were now 
settled on the boulevard Raspail and we would go and see them 

In the meanwhile Gertrude Stein had received a letter from Fernande, 
very dignified, written with the reticence of a frenchwoman. She said 
that she wished to tell Gertrude Stein that she understood perfectly that 
the friendship had always been with Pablo and that although Gertrude 
had always shown her every mark of sympathy and affection now that 
she and Pablo were separated, it was naturally impossible that in the 
future there should be any intercourse between them because the friend- 
ship having been with Pablo there could of course be no question of a 
choice. That she would always remember their intercourse with pleasure 
and that she would permit herself, if ever she were in need, to throw 
herself upon Gertrude's generosity. 

And so Picasso left Montmartre never to return. 

When I first came to the rue de Fleurus Gertrude Stein was correcting 
the proofs of Three Lives. I was soon helping her with this and before 
very long the book was published. I asked her .to let me subscribe to 
% Romeike's clipping bureau, the advertisement for Romeike in the San 
Francisco Argonaut having been one of the romances of my childhood. 
Soon the clippings began to come in. 

It is rather astonishing the number of newspapers that noticed this 
book, printed privately and by a perfectly unknown person. The notice 
that pleased Gertrude Stein most was in the Kansas City Star. She often 
asked then and in later years who it was who might have written it but 
she never found out. It was a very sympathetic and a very understanding 
review. Later on when she was discouraged by what others said she 
would refer to it as having given her at that time great comfort. She 
says in Composition and Explanation, when you write a thing it is per- 
fectly clear and then you begin to be doubtful about it, but then you read 
it again and you lose yourself in it again as when you wrote it. 


The other thing in connection with this her first book that gave her 
pleasure was a very enthusiastic note from H. G. Wells. She kept this 
for years apart, it had meant so much to her. She wrote to him at that 
time and they were often to meet but as it happened they never did. And 
they are not likely to now. 

Gertrude Stein was at that time writing The Making of Americans. 
It had changed from being a history of a family to being a history of 
everybody the family knew and then it became the history of every kind 
and of every individual human being. But in spite of all this there was a 
hero and he was to die. The day he died I met Gertrude Stein at Mil- 
dred Aldrich's apartment. Mildred was very fond of Gertrude Stein and 
took a deep interest in the book's ending. It was over a thousand pages 
long and I was typewriting it. 

I always say that you cannot tell what a picture really is or what an 
object really is until you dust it every day and you cannot tell what a 
book is until you type it or proof-read it. It then does something to you 
that only reading never can do. A good many years later Jane Heap said 
that she had never appreciated the quality of Gertrude Stein's work until 
she proof-read it. 

When The Making of Americans was finished, Gertrude Stein began 
another which also was to be long and which she called A Long Gay 
Book but it did not turn out to be long, neither that nor one begun at 
the same time Many Many Women because they were both interrupted 
by portrait writing. This is how portrait writing began. 

Helene used to stay at home with her husband Sunday evening, that 
is to say she was always willing to come but we often told her not to 
bother. I like cooking, I am an extremely good five-minute cook, and 
beside, Gertrude Stein liked from time to time to have me make amer- 
ican dishes. One Sunday evening I was very busy preparing one of these 
and then I called Gertrude Stein to come in from the atelier for supper. 
She came in much excited and would not sit down. Here I want to 
show you something, she said. No I said it has to be eaten hot. No, she 
said, you have to see this first. Gertrude Stein never likes her food hot 
and I do like mine hot, we never agree about this. She admits that one 
can wait to cool it but one cannot heat it once it is on a plate so it is 
agreed that I have it served as hot as I like. In spite of my protests and 
the food cooling I had to read. I can still see the little tiny pages of the 
note-book written forward and back. It was the portrait called Ada, the 

1907-1914 95 

first in Geography and Plays. I began it and I thought she was making 
fun of me and I protested, she says I protest now about my autobiog- 
raphy. Finally I read it all and was terribly pleased with it. And then 
we ate our supper. 

This was the beginning of the long series of portraits. She has written 
portraits of practically everybody she has known, and written them in 
all manners and in all styles. 

Ada was followed by portraits of Matisse and Picasso, and Stieglitz 
who was much interested in them and in Gertrude Stein printed them 
in a special number of Camera Work. 

She then began to do short portraits of everybody who came in and out. 
She did one of Arthur Frost, the son of A. B. Frost the american illus- 
trator. Frost was a Matisse pupil and his pride when he read his portrait 
and found that it was three full pages longer than either the portrait of 
Matisse or the portrait of Picasso was something to hear. 

A. B. Frost complained to Pat Bruce who had led Frost to Matisse that 
it was a pity that Arthur could not see his way to becoming a conven- 
tional artist and so earning fame and money. You can lead a horse to 
water but you cannot make him drink said Pat Bruce. Most horses 
drink, Mr. Bruce, said A. B. Frost. 

Bruce, Patrick Henry Bruce, was one of the early and most ardent 
Matisse pupils and soon he made little Matisses, but he was not happy. 
In explaining his unhappiness he told Gertrude Stein, they talk about 
the sorrows of great artists, the tragic unhappiness of great artists but 
after all they are great artists. A little artist has all the tragic unhappiness 
and the sorrows of a great artist and he is not a great artist. 

She did portraits of Nadelman, also of the proteges of the sculptress 
Mrs. Whitney, Lee and Russell also of Harry Phelan Gibb, her first and 
best english friend. She did portraits of Manguin and Roche and Purr- 
mann and David Edstrom, the fat Swedish sculptor who married the 
head of the Christian Science Church in Paris and destroyed her. And 
Brenner, Brenner the sculptor who never finished anything. He had an 
admirable technique and a great many obsessions which kept him from 
work. Gertrude Stein was very fond of him and still is. She once posed 
to him for weeks and he did a fragmentary portrait of her that is very 
fine. He and Cody later published some numbers of a little review called 
Soil and they were among the very early ones to print something of 
Gertrude Stein. The only little magazine that preceded it was one called 


Rogue, printed by Allan Norton and which printed her description of 
the Galerie Lafayette. This was of course all much later and happened 
through Carl Van Vechten. 

She also did portraits of Miss Etta Cone and her sister Doctor Claribel 
Cone. She also did portraits of Miss Mars and Miss Squires under the 
title of Miss Furr and Miss Skeene. There were portraits of Mildred Al- 
drich and her sister. Everybody was given their portrait to read and 
they were all pleased and it was all very amusing. All this occupied a 
great deal of that winter and then we went to Spain. 

In Spain Gertrude Stein began to write the things that led to Tender 



I liked Spain immensely. We went several times to Spain and I always 
liked it more and more. Gertrude Stein says that I am impartial on every 
subject except that of Spain and Spaniards. 

We went straight to Avila and I immediately lost my heart to Avila, 
I must stay in Avila forever I insisted. Gertrude Stein was very upset, 
Avila was alright but, she insisted, she needed Paris. I felt that I needed 
nothing but Avila. We were both very violent about it. We did however 
stay there for ten days and as Saint Theresa was a heroine of Gertrude 
Stein's youth we thoroughly enjoyed it. In the opera Four Saints written 
a few years ago she describes the landscape that so profoundly moved 

We went on to Madrid and there we met Georgiana King of Bryn 
Mawr, an old friend of Gertrude Stein from Baltimore days. Georgiana 
King wrote some of the most interesting of the early criticisms of Three 
Lives. She was then re-editing Street on the cathedrals of Spain and in 
connection with this she had wandered all over Spain. She gave us a 
great deal of very good advice. 

In these days Gertrude Stein wore a brown corduroy suit, jacket and 
skirt, a small straw cap, always crocheted for her b,y a woman in Fiesole, 
sandals, and she often carried a cane. That summer the head of the cane 
was of amber. It is more or less this costume without the cap and the cane 
that Picasso has painted in his portrait of her. This costume was ideal for 
Spain, they all thought of her as belonging to some religious order and 
we were always treated with the most absolute respect. I remember that 
once a nun was showing us the treasures in a convent church in Toledo. 
We were near the steps of the altar. All of a sudden there was a crash, 
Gertrude Stein had dropped her cane. The nun paled, the worshippers 

1907-1914 97 

startled. Gertrude Stein picked up her cane and turning to the fright- 
ened nun said reassuringly, no it is not broken. 

I used in those days of Spanish travelling to wear what I was wont to 
call my Spanish disguise. I always wore a black silk coat, black gloves 
and a black hat, the only pleasure I allowed myself were lovely artificial 
flowers on my hat. These always enormously interested the peasant 
women and they used to very courteously ask my permission to touch 
them, to realise for themselves that they were artificial. 

We went to Cuenca that summer, Harry Gibb the english painter had 
told us about it. Harry Gibb is a strange case of a man who foresaw 
everything. He had been a successful animal painter in his youth in 
England, he came from the north of England, he had married and gone 
to Germany, there he had become dissatisfied with what he had been 
doing and heard about the new school of painting in Paris. He came to 
Paris and was immediately influenced by Matisse. He then became inter- 
ested in Picasso and he did some very remarkable painting under their 
combined influences. Then all this together threw him into something 
else something that fairly completely achieved what the surrealists after 
the war tried to do. The only thing he lacked is what the french call 
saveur, what may be called the graciousness of a picture. Because of this 
lack it was impossible for him to find a french audience. Naturally in 
those days there was no english audience. Harry Gibb fell on bad days. 
He was always falling upon bad days. He and his wife Bridget one of 
the pleasantest of the wives of a genius I have sat with were full of cour- 
age and they faced everything admirably, but there were always very 
difficult days. And then things were a little better. He found a couple 
of patrons who believed in him and it was at this time, 1912-1913, that 
he went to Dublin and had rather an epoch-making show of his pictures 
there. It was at that time that he took with him several copies of the por- 
trait of Mabel Dodge at the Villa Curonia, Mabel Dodge had had it 
printed in Florence, and it was then that the Dublin writers in the cafes 
heard Gertrude Stein read aloud. Doctor Gogarty, Harry Gibb's host 
and admirer, loved to read it aloud himself and have others read it 

After that there was the war and eclipse for poor Harry, and since 
then a long sad struggle. He has had his ups and downs, more downs 
than up, but only recently there was a new turn of the wheel. Gertrude 
Stein who loved them both dearly always was convinced that the two 


painters of her generation who would be discovered after they were 
dead, they being predestined to a life of tragedy, were Juan Gris and 
Harry Gibb. Juan Gris dead these five years is beginning to come into 
his own. Harry Gibb still alive is still unknown. Gertrude Stein and 
Harry Gibb have always been very loyal and very loving friends. One of 
the very good early portraits she did she did of him, it was printed in the 
Oxford Review and then in Geography and Plays. 

So Harry Gibb told us about Cuenca and we went on a little railroad 
that turned around curves and ended in the middle of nowhere and 
there was Cuenca. 

We delighted in Cuenca and the population of Cuenca delighted in us. 
It delighted in us so much that it was getting uncomfortable. Then one 
day when we were out walking, all of a sudden the population, particu- 
larly the children, kept their distance. Soon a uniformed man came up 
and saluting said that he was a policeman of the town and that the 
governor of the province had detailed him to always hover in the dis- 
tance as we went about the country to prevent our being annoyed by the 
population and that he hoped that this would not inconvenience us. It 
did not, he was charming and he took us to lovely places in the country 
where we could not very well have gone by ourselves. Such was Spain 
in the old days. 

We finally came back to Madrid again and there we discovered the 
Argentina and bull-fights. The young journalists of Madrid had just dis- 
covered her. We happened upon her in a music hall, we went to them 
to see Spanish dancing, and after we saw her the first time we went every 
afternoon and every evening. We went to the bull-fights. At first they 
upset me and Gertrude Stein used to tell me, now look, now don't look, 
until finally I was able to look all the time. 

We finally came to Granada and stayed there for some time and there 
Gertrude Stein worked terrifically. She was always very fond of Granada. 
It was there she had her first experience of Spain when still at college 
just after the spanish-american war when she and her brother went 
through Spain. They had a delightful time and she always tells of sitting 
in the dining room talking to a bostonian and his daughter when sud- 
denly there was a terrific noise, the hee-haw of a donkey. What is it, said 
the young bostonian trembling. Ah, said the father, it is the last sigh of 
the Moor. 

We enjoyed Granada, we met many amusing people english and span- 

1907-1914 99 

ish and it was there and at that time that Gertrude Stein's style gradually 
changed. She says hitherto she had been interested only in the insides of 
people, their character and what went on inside them, it was during 
that summer that she first felt a desire to express the rhythm of the vis- 
ible world. 

It was a long tormenting process, she looked, listened and described. 
She always was, she always is, tormented by the problem of the external 
and the internal. One of the things that always worries her about paint- 
ing is the difficulty that the artist feels and which sends him to painting 
still lifes, that after all the human being essentially is not paintable. Once 
again and very recently she has thought that a painter has added some- 
thing to the solution of this problem. She is interested in Picabia in 
whom hitherto she has never been interested because he at least knows 
that if you do not solve your painting problem in painting human beings 
you do not solve it at all. There is also a follower of Picabia's, who is 
facing the problem, but will he solve it. Perhaps not. Well anyway it is 
that of which she is always talking and now her own long struggle with 
it was to begin. 

These were the days in which she wrote Susie Asado and Preciocilla 
and Gypsies in Spain. She experimented with everything in trying to 
describe. She tried a bit inventing words but she soon gave that up. 
The english language was her medium and with the english language 
the task was to be achieved, the problem solved. The use of fabricated 
words offended her, it was an escape into imitative emotionalism. 

No, she stayed with her task, although after the return to Paris she 
described objects, she described rooms and objects, which joined with 
her first experiments done in Spain, made the volume Tender Buttons. 

She always however made her chief study people and therefore the 
never ending series of portraits. 

We came back to the rue de Fleurus as usual. 

One of the people who had impressed me very much when I first came 
to the rue de Fleurus was Mildred Aldrich. 

Mildred Aldrich was then in her early fifties, a stout vigorous woman 
with a George Washington face, white hair and admirably clean fresh 
clothes and gloves. A very striking figure and a very satisfying one in 
the crowd of mixed nationalities. She was indeed one of whom Picasso 
could say and did say, c'est elle qui fera la gloire de PAmerique. She 
made one very satisfied with one's country, which had produced her. 


Her sister having left for America she lived alone on the top floor of 
a building on the corner of the boulevard Raspail and the half street, 
rue Boissonade. There she had at the window an enormous cage filled 
with canaries. We always thought it was because she loved canaries. 
Not at all. A friend had once left her a canary in a cage to take care of 
during her absence. Mildred as she did everything else, took excellent 
care of the canary in the cage. Some friend seeing this and naturally con- 
cluding that Mildred was fond of canaries gave her another canary. 
Mildred of course took excellent care of both canaries and so the canaries 
increased and the size of the cage grew until in 1914 she moved to Huiry 
to the Hilltop on the Marne and gave her canaries away. Her excuse was 
that in the country cats would eat the canaries. But her real reason she 
once told me was that she really could not bear canaries. 

Mildred was an excellent housekeeper. I was very surprised, having 
had a very different impression of her, going up to see her one after- 
noon, finding her mending her linen and doing it beautifully. 

Mildred adored cablegrams, she adored being hard up, or rather she 
adored spending money and as her earning capacity although great was 
limited, Mildred was chronically hard up. In those days she was making 
contracts to put Maeterlinck's Blue Bird on the american stage. The ar- 
rangements demanded endless cablegrams, and my early memories of 
Mildred were of her coming to our little apartment in the rue Notre- 
Dame-des-Champs late in the evening and asking me to lend her the 
money for a long cable. A few days later the money was returned with 
a lovely azalea worth five times the money. No wonder she was always 
hard up. But everybody listened to her. No one in the world could tell 
stories like Mildred. I can still see her at the rue de Fleurus sitting in one 
of the big armchairs and gradually the audience increasing around her 
as she talked. 

She was very fond of Gertrude Stein, very interested in her work, en- 
thusiastic about Three Lives, deeply impressed but slightly troubled by 
The Making of Americans, quite upset by Tender Buttons, but always 
loyal and convinced that if Gertrude Stein did it it had something in it 
that was worth while. 

Her joy and pride when in nineteen twenty-six Gertrude Stein gave 
her lecture at Cambridge and Oxford was touching. Gertrude Stein must 
come out and read it to her before leaving. Gertrude Stein did, much to 
their mutual pleasure. 

1907-1914 101 

Mildred Aldrich liked Picasso and even liked Matisse, that is per- 
sonally, but she was troubled. One day she said to me, Alice, tell me is 
it alright, are they really alright, I know Gertrude thinks so and Gertrude 
knows, but really is it not all fumisterie, is it not all false. 

In spite of these occasional doubtful days Mildred Aldrich liked it all. 
She liked coming herself and she liked bringing other people. She 
brought a great many. It was she who brought Henry McBride who was 
then writing on the New York Sun. It was Henry McBride who used to 
keep Gertrude Stein's name before the public all those tormented years. 
Laugh if you like, he used to say to her detractors, but laugh with and 
not at her, in that way you will enjoy it all much better. 

Henry McBride did not believe in worldly success. It ruins you, it 
ruins you, he used to say. But Henry, Gertrude Stein used to answer 
dolefully, don't you think I will ever have any success, I would like to 
have a little, you know. Think of my unpublished manuscripts. But 
Henry McBride was firm, the best that I can wish you, he always said, 
is to have no success. It is the only good thing. He was firm about that. 

He was however enormously pleased when Mildred was successful 
and he now says he thinks the time has come when Gertrude Stein could 
indulge in a little. success. He does not think that now it would hurt her. 

It was about this time that Roger Fry first came to the house. He 
brought Clive Bell and Mrs. Clive Bell and later there were many others. 
In these days Clive Bell went along with the other two. He was rather 
complainful that his wife and Roger Fry took too much interest in capital 
works of art. He was quite funny about it. He was very amusing, later 
when he became a real art critic he was less so. 

Roger Fry was always charming, charming as a guest and charming 
as a host; later when we went to London we spent a day with him in the 

He was filled with excitement at the sight of the portrait of Gertrude 
Stein by Picasso. He wrote an article about it in the Burlington Review 
and illustrated it by two photographs side by side, one the photograph of 
this portrait and the other a photograph of a portrait by Raphael. He 
insisted that these two pictures were equal in value. He brought endless 
people to the house. Very soon there were throngs of englishmen, 
Augustus John and Lamb, Augustus John amazing looking and not too 
sober, Lamb rather strange and attractive. 

Jt was about this time that Roger Fry had many young disciples. 


Among them was Wyndham Lewis, Wyndham Lewis, tall and thin, 
looked rather like a young frenchman on the rise, perhaps because his 
feet were very french, or at least his shoes. He used to come and sit and 
measure pictures. I can not say that he actually measured with a meas- 
uring-rod but he gave all the effect of being in the act of taking very 
careful measurement of the canvas, the lines within the canvas and 
everything that might be of use. Gertrude Stein rather liked him. She 
particularly liked him one day when he came and told all about his 
quarrel with Roger Fry. Roger Fry had come in not many days before 
and had already told all about it. They told exactly the same story only 
it was different, very different. 

This was about the time too that Prichard o the Museum of Fine 
Arts, Boston and later of the Kensington Museum began coming. 
Prichard brought a great many young Oxford men. They were very nice 
in the room, and they thought Picasso wonderful. They felt and indeed 
in a way it was true that he had a halo. With these Oxford men came 
Thomas Whittemore of Tufts College. He was fresh and engaging and 
later to Gertrude Stein's great delight he one day said, all blue is precious. 

Everybody brought somebody. As I said the character of the Saturday 
evenings was gradually changing, that is to say, the kind of people who 
came had changed. Somebody brought the Infanta Eulalia and brought 
her several times. She was delighted and with the flattering memory 
of royalty she always remembered my name even some years after when 
we met quite by accident in the place Vendome. When she first came 
into the room she was a little frightened. It seemed a strange place but 
gradually she liked it very much. 

Lady Cunard brought her daughter Nancy, then a little girl, and very 
solemnly bade her never forget the visit. 

Who else came. There were so many. The bavarian minister brought 
quantities of people. Jacques-Emile Blanche brought delightful people, 
so did Alphonse Kann. There was Lady Otoline Morrell looking like a 
marvellous feminine version of Disraeli and tall and strange shyly hesi- 
tating at the door. There was a dutch near royalty who was left by her 
escort who had to go and find a cab and she looked during this short 
interval badly frightened. 

There was a roumanian princess, and her cabman grew impatient. 
Helene came in to announce violently that the cabman would not wait. 

1907-1914 103 

And then after a violent knock, the cabman himself announced that he 
would not wait. 

It was an endless variety. And everybody came and no one made any 
difference. Gertrude Stein sat peacefully in a chair and those who could 
did the same, the rest stood. There were the friends who sat around the 
stove and talked and there were the endless strangers who came and 
went. My memory of it is very vivid. 

As I say everybody brought people. William Cook brought a great 
many from Chicago, very wealthy stout ladies and equally wealthy tall 
good-looking thin ones. That summer having found the Balearic Islands 
on the map, we went to the island of Mallorca and on the little boat 
going over was Cook. He too had found it on the map. We stayed only 
a little while but he settled down for the summer, and then later he went 
back and was the solitary first of all the big crowd of afnericans who have 
discovered Palma since. We all went back again during the war. 

It was during this summer that Picasso gave us a letter to a friend of 
his youth one Raventos in Barcelona. But does he talk french, asked 
Gertrude Stein, Pablo giggled, better than you do Gertrude, he answered. 

Raventos gave us a good time, he and a descendant of de Soto took us 
about for two long days, the days were long because so much of them 
were night. They had an automobile, even in those early days, and they 
took us up into the hills to see early churches. We would rush up a hill 
and then happily come down a little slower and every two hours or so 
we ate a dinner. When we finally came back to Barcelona about ten 
o'clock in the evening they said, now we will have an aperitif and then 
we will eat dinner. It was exhausting eating so many dinners but we 
enjoyed ourselves. 

Later on much later on indeed only a few years ago Picasso introduced 
us to another friend of his youth. 

Sabartes and he have known each other ever since they were fifteen 
years old but as Sabartes had disappeared into South America, Monte- 
video, Uruguay, before Gertrude Stein met Picasso, she had never heard 
of him. One day a few years ago Picasso sent word that he was bringing 
Sabartes to the house. Sabartes, in Uruguay, had read some things of 
Gertrude Stein in various magazines and he hod conceived a great ad- 
miration for her work. It never occurred to him that Picasso would know 
her. Having come back for the first time in all these years to Paris he 


went to see Picasso and he told him about this Gertrude Stein. But she 
is my only friend, said Picasso, it is the only home I go to. Take me, said 
Sabartes, and so they came. 

Gertrude Stein and Spaniards are natural friends and this time too the 
friendship grew. 

It was about this time that the futurists, the kalian futurists, had their 
big show in Paris and it made a great deal of noise. Everybody was ex- 
cited and this show being given in a very well known gallery everybody 
went. Jacques-Emile Blanche was terribly upset by it. We found him 
wandering tremblingly in the garden of the Tuileries and he said, it 
looks alright but is it. No it isn't, said Gertude Stein. You do me good, 
said Jacques-Emile Blanche. 

The futurists all of them led by Severini thronged around Picasso. He 
brought them all to the house. Marinetti came by himself later as I re- 
member. In any case everybody found the futurists very dull. 

Epstein the sculptor came to the rue de Fleurus one evening. When 
Gertrude Stein first came to Paris in nineteen hundred and four, Epstein 
was a thin rather beautiful rather melancholy ghost who used to slip in 
and out among the Rodin statues in the Luxembourg museum. He had 
illustrated Hutchins Hapgood's studies of the ghetto and with the funds 
he came to Paris and was very poor. Now when I first saw him, he had 
come to Paris to place his sphynx statue to Oscar Wilde over Oscar 
Wilde's grave. He was a large rather stout man, not unimpressive but not 
beautiful. He had an english wife who had a very remarkable pair of 
brown eyes, of a shade of brown I had never before seen in eyes. , 

Doctor Claribel Cone of Baltimore came majestically in and out. She 
loved to read Gertrude Stein's work out loud and she did read it out loud 
extraordinarily well. She liked ease and graciousness and comfort. She 
and her sister Etta Cone were traveling. The only room in the hotel was 
not comfortable. Etta bade her sister put up with it as it was only for 
one night. Etta, answered Doctor Claribel, one night is as important as 
any other night in my life and I must be comfortable. When the war 
broke out she happened to be in Munich engaged in scientific work. She 
could never leave because it was never comfortable to travel. Everybody 
delighted in Doctor Claribel. Much later Picasso made a drawing of her. 

Emily Chadbourne came, it was she who brought Lady Otoline Mor- 
rell and she also brought many bostonians. 

1907-1914 105 

Mildred Aldrich once brought a very extraordinary person Myra 
Edgerly. I remembered very well that when I was quite young and went 
to a fancy-dress ball, a Mardi Gras ball in San Francisco, I saw a very 
tall and very beautiful and very brilliant woman there. This was Myra 
Edgerly young. Genthe, the well known photographer did endless 
photographs of her, mostly with a cat. She had come to London as a 
miniaturist and she had had one of those phenomenal successes that 
americans do have in Europe. She had miniatured everybody, and the 
royal family, and she had maintained her earnest gay careless outspoken 
San Francisco way through it all. She now came to Paris to study a little. 
She met Mildred Aldrich and became very devoted to her. Indeed it was 
Myra who in nineteen thirteen, when Mildred's earning capacity was 
rapidly dwindling secured an annuity for her and made it possible for 
Mildred to retire to the Hilltop on the Marne. 

Myra Edgerly was very earnestly anxious that Gertrude Stein's work 
should be more widely known. When Mildred told her about all those 
unpublished manuscripts Myra said something must be done. And of 
course something was done. 

She knew John Lane slightly and she said Gertrude Stein and I must 
go to London. But first Myra must write letters and then I must write 
letters to everybody for Gertrude Stein. She told me the formula I must 
employ. I remember it began, Miss Gertrude Stein as you may or may 
not know, is, and then you went on and said everything you had to say. 

Under Myra's strenuous impulsion we went to London in the winter 
of nineteen twelve, thirteen, for a few weeks. We did have an awfully 
good time. 

Myra took us with her to stay with Colonel and Mrs. Rogers at River- 
hill in Surrey. This was in the vicinity of Knole and of Ightham Mote, 
beautiful houses and beautiful parks. This was my first experience of 
country-house visiting in England since, as a small child, I had only 
been in the nursery. I enjoyed every minute of it. The comfort, the open 
fires, the tall maids who were like annunciation angels, the beautiful 
gardens, the children, the ease of it all. And the quantity of objects and 
of beautiful things. What is that, I would ask Mrs. Rogers, ah that I 
know nothing about, it was here when I came. It gave me a feeling that 
there had been so many lovely brides in that house who had found all 
these things there when they came. 


Gertrude, Stein liked country-house visiting less than I did. The con- 
tinuous pleasant hesitating flow of conversation, the never ceasing sound 
of the human voice speaking in english, bothered her. 

On our next visit to London and when because of being caught by the 
war we stayed in country houses with our friends a very long time, she 
managed to isolate herself for considerable parts of the day and to avoid 
at least one of the three or four meals, and so she liked it better. 

We did have a good time in England. Gertrude Stein completely for- 
got her early dismal memory of London and has liked visiting there 
immensely ever since. 

We went to Roger Fry's house in the country and were charmingly 
entertained by his quaker sister. We went to Lady Otoline Morrell and 
met everybody. We went to Clive Bell's. We went about all the time, we 
went shopping and ordered things. I still have my bag and jewel box. 
We had an extremely good time. And we went very often to see John 
Lane. In fact we were supposed to go every Sunday afternoon to his 
house for tea and Gertrude Stein had several interviews with him in his 
office. How well I knew all the things in all the shops near the Bodley 
Head because while Gertrude Stein was inside with John Lane while 
nothing happened and then when finally something happened I waited 
outside and looked at everything. 

The Sunday afternoons at John Lane's were very amusing. As I re- 
member during that first stay in London we went there twice. 

John Lane was very interested, Mrs. John Lane was a Boston woman 
and very kind. 

Tea at the John Lane's Sunday afternoons was an experience. John 
Lane had copies of Three Lives and The Portrait of Mabel Dodge. One 
did not know why he selected the people he did to show it to. He did not 
give either book to any one to read. He put it into their hands and took 
it away again and inaudibly he announced that Gertrude Stein was here. 
Nobody was introduced to anybody. From time to time John Lane 
would take Gertrude Stein into various rooms and show her his pictures, 
odd pictures of English schools of all periods, some of them very pleasing. 
Sometimes he told a story about how he had come to get it. He never 
said anything else about a picture. He also showed her a great many 
Beardsley drawings and they talked about Paris. 

The second Sunday he asked her to come again to the Bodley Head. 

1907-1914 107 

This was a long interview. He said that Mrs. Lane had read Three Lives 
and thought very highly of it and that he had the greatest confidence in 
her judgment. He asked Gertrude Stein when she was coming back to 
London. She said she probably was not coming back to London. Well, 
he said, when you come in July I imagine we will be ready to arrange 
something. Perhaps, he added, I may see you in Paris in the early spring. 

And so we left London. We were on the whole very pleased with 
ourselves. We had had a very good time and it was the first time that 
Gertrude Stein had ever had a conversation with a publisher. 

Mildred Aldrich often brought a whole group of people to the house 
Saturday evening. One evening a number of people came in with her 
and among them was Mabel Dodge. I remember my impression of her 
very well. 

She was a stoutish woman with a very sturdy fringe of heavy hair 
over her forehead, heavy long lashes and very pretty eyes and a very old 
fashioned coquetry. She had a lovely voice. She reminded me of a heroine 
of my youth, the actress Georgia Cayvan. She asked us to come to Flor- 
ence to stay with her. We were going to spend the summer as was then 
our habit in Spain but we were going to be back in Paris in the fall and 
perhaps we then would. When we came back there were several urgent 
telegrams from Mabel Dodge asking us to come to the Villa Curonia 
and we did. 

We had a very amusing time. We liked Edwin Dodge and we liked 
Mabel Dodge but we particularly liked Constance Fletcher whom we 
met there. 

Constance Fletcher came a day or so after we arrived and I went to the 
station to meet her. Mabel Dodge had described her to me as a very 
large woman who would wear a purple robe and who was deaf. As a 
matter of fact she was dressed in green and was not deaf but very short 
sighted, and she was delightful. 

Her father and mother came from and lived in Newburyport, Mas- 
sachusetts. Edwin Dodge's people came from the same town and this 
was a strong bond of union. When Constance was twelve years old her 
mother fell in love with the english tutor of Constance's younger brother. 
Constance knew that her mother was about to leave her home. For a 
week Constance laid on her bed and wept and then accompanied her 
mother and her future step-father to Italy. Her step-father being an 


englishman Constance became passionately an english woman. The step- 
father was a painter who had a local reputation among the english resi- 
dents in Italy. 

When Constance Fletcher was eighteen years old she wrote a best- 
seller called Kismet and was engaged to be married to Lord Lovelace 
the descendant of Byron. 

She did not marry him and thereafter lived always in Italy. Finally 
she became permanently fixed in Venice. This was after the death of 
her mother and father. I always liked as a californian her description 
of Joaquin Miller in Rome, in her younger days. 

Now in her comparative old age she was attractive and impressive. I 
am very fond of needlework and I was fascinated by her fashion of em- 
broidering wreaths of flowers. There was nothing drawn upon her linen, 
she just held it in her hands, from time to time bringing it closely to one 
eye, and eventually the wreath took form. She was very fond of ghosts. 
There were two of them in the Villa Curonia and Mabel was very fond 
of frightening visiting americans with them which she did in her sug- 
gestive way very effectively. Once she drove a house party consisting of 
Jo and Yvonne Davidson, Florence Bradley, Mary Foote and a number 
of others quite mad with fear. And at last to complete the effect she had 
the local priest in to exorcise the ghosts. You can imagine the state of 
mind of her guests. But Constance Fletcher was fond of ghosts and par- 
ticularly attached to the later one, who was a wistful ghost of an english 
governess who had killed herself in the house. 

One morning I went in to Constance Fletcher's bedroom to ask her 
how she was, she had not been very well the night before. 

I went in and closed the door. Constance Fletcher very large and very 
white was lying in one of the vast renaissance beds with which the villa 
was furnished. Near the door was a very large renaissance cupboard. I 
had a delightful night, said Constance Fletcher, the gentle ghost visited 
me all night, indeed she has just left me. I imagine she is still in the cup- 
board, will you open it please. I did. Is she there, asked Constance 
Fletcher. I said I saw nothing. Ah yes, said Constance Fletcher. 

We had a delightful time and Gertrude Stein at that time wrote The 
Portrait of Mabel Dodge. She also wrote the portrait of Constance 
Fletcher that was later printed in Geography and Plays. Many years later 
indeed after the war in London I met Siegfried Sassoon at a party given 
by Edith Sitwell for Gertrude Stein. He spoke of Gertrude Stein's por- 

1907-1914 109 

trait of Constance Fletcher which he had read in Geography and Plays 
and said that he had first become interested in Gertrude Stein's work 
because of this portrait. And he added, and did you know her and if 
you did can you tell me about her marvellous voice. I said, very much 
interested, then you did not know her. No, he said, I never saw her but 
she ruined my life. How, I asked excitedly. Because, he answered, she 
separated my father from my mother. 

Constance Fletcher had written "one very successful play which had 
had a long run in London called Green Stockings but her real life had 
been in Italy. She was more italian than the Italians. She admired her 
step-father and therefore was english but she was really dominated by 
the fine italian hand of Machiavelli. She could and did intrigue in the 
italian way better than even the italians and she was a disturbing influ- 
ence for many years in Venice not only among the english but also 
among the italians. 

Andre Gide turned up while we were at the Villa Curonia. It was 
rather a dull evening. It was then also that we first met Muriel Draper 
and Paul Draper. Gertrude Stein always liked Paul very much. She de- 
lighted in his american enthusiasm, and explanation of all things musical 
and human. He had had a great deal of adventure in the West and that 
was another bond between them. When Paul Draper left to return to 
London Mabel Dodge received a telegram saying, pearls missing sus- 
pect the second man. She came to Gertrude Stein in great agitation ask- 
ing what she should do about it. Don't wake me, said Gertrude Stein, 
do nothing. And then sitting up, but that is a nice thing to say, suspect 
the second man, that is charming, but who and what is the second man. 
Mabel explained that the last time they had a robbery in the villa the 
police said that they could do nothing because nobody suspected any 
particular person and this time Paul to avoid that complication suspected 
the second man servant. While this explanation was being given another 
telegram came, pearls found. The second man had put the pearls in the 
collar box. 

Haweis and his wife, later Mina Loy were also in Florence. Their 
home had been dismantled as they had had workmen in it but they put 
it all in order to give us a delightful lunch. Both Haweis and Mina were 
among the very earliest to be interested in the work of Gertrude Stein. 
Haweis had been fascinated with what he had read in manuscript of 
The Making of Americans. He did however plead for commas. Ger- 


trude Stein said commas were unnecessary, the sense should be intrinsic 
and not have to be explained by commas and otherwise commas were 
only a sign that one should pause and take breath but one should know 
of oneself when one wanted to pause and take breath. However, as she 
liked Haweis very much and he had given her a delightful painting for 
a fan, she gave him two commas. It must however be added that on re- 
reading the manuscript she took the commas out. 

Mina Loy equally interested was able to understand without the 
commas. She has always been able to understand. 

Gertrude Stein having written The Portrait of Mabel Dodge, Mabel 
Dodge immediately wanted it printed. She had three hundred copies 
struck off and bound in Florentine paper. Constance Fletcher corrected 
the proofs and we were all awfully pleased. Mabel Dodge immediately 
conceived the idea that Gertrude Stein should be invited from one coun- 
try house to another and do portraits and then end up doing portraits of 
american millionaires which would be a very exciting and lucrative 
career. Gertrude Stein laughed. A little later we went back to Paris. 

It was during this winter that Gertrude Stein began to write plays. 
They began with the one entitled, It Happened a Play. This was writ- 
ten about a dinner party given by Harry and Bridget Gibb. She then 
wrote Ladies' Voices. Her interest in writing plays continues. She says 
a landscape is such a natural arrangement for a battle-field or a play that 
one must write plays. 

Florence Bradley, a friend of Mabel Dodge, was spending a winter in 
Paris. She had had some stage experience and had been interested in 
planning a little theatre. She was vitally interested in putting these plays 
on the stage. Demuth was in Paris too at this time. He was then more 
interested in writing than in painting and particularly interested in these 
plays. He and Florence Bradley were always talking them over together. 

Gertrude Stein has never seen Demuth since. When she first heard 
that he was painting she was much interested. They never wrote to each 
other but they often sent messages by mutual friends. Demuth always 
sent word that some day he would do a little picture that would thor- 
oughly please him and then he would send it to her. And sure enough 
after all these years, two years ago some one left at the rue de Fleurus 
during our absence a little picture with a message that this was the pic- 
ture that Demuth was ready to give to Gertrude Stein. It is a remark- 
able little landscape in which the roofs and windows are so subtle that 

,1907-1914 111 

they are as mysterious and as alive as the roofs and windows of Haw- 
thorne or Henry James. 

It was not long after this that Mabel Dodge went to America and it 
was the winter of the armoury show which was the first time the general 
public had a chance to see any of these pictures. It was there that Marcel 
Duchamp's Nude Descending the Staircase was shown. 

It was about this time that Picabia and Gertrude Stein met. I remem- 
ber going to dinner at the Picabias' and a pleasant dinner it was, Gabrielle 
Picabia full of life and gaiety, Picabia dark and lively, and Marcel 
Duchamp looking like a young norman crusader. 

I was always perfectly able to understand the enthusiasm that Marcel 
Duchamp aroused in New York when he went there in the early years 
of the war. His brother had just died from the effect of his wounds, his 
other brother was still at the front and he himself was inapt for military 
service. He was very depressed and he went to America. Everybody 
loved him. So much so that it was a joke in Paris that when any american 
arrived in Paris the first thing he said was, and how is Marcel. Once 
Gertrude Stein went to see Braque, just after the war, and going into 
the studio in which there happened just then to be three young ameri- 
cans, she said to Braque, and how is Marcelle. The three young americans 
came up to her breathlessly and said, have you seen Marcel. She laughed, 
and having become accustomed to the inevitableness of the american be- 
lief that there was only one Marcel, she explained that Braque's wife was 
named Marcelle and it was Marcelle Braque about whom she was en- 

In those days Picabia and Gertrude Stein did not get to be very good 
friends. He annoyed her with his incessantness and what she called the 
vulgarity of his delayed adolescence. But oddly enough in this last year 
they have gotten to be very fond of each other. She is very much inter- 
ested in his drawing and in his painting. It began with his show just a 
year ago. She is now convinced that although he has in a sense not a 
painter's gift he has an idea that has been and will be of immense value 
to all time. She calls him the Leonardo da Vinci of the movement. And 
i{ is true, he understands and invents everything. 

As soon as the winter of the armoury show was over Mabel Dodge 
came back to Europe and she brought with her what Jacques-Emile 
Blanche called her collection des jeunes gens assortis, a mixed assort- 
ment of young men. In the lot were Carl Van Vechten, Robert Jones 


and John Reed. Carl Van Vechten did not come to the rue de Fleurus 
with her. He came later in the spring by himself. The other two came 
with her. I remember the evening they all came. Picasso was there too. 
He looked at John Reed critically and said, le genre de Braque mais 
beaucoup moins rigolo, Braque's kind but much less diverting. I remem- 
ber also that Reed told me about his trip through Spain. He told me he 
had seen many strange sights there, that he had seen witches chased 
through the street of Salamanca. As I had been spending months in 
Spain and he only weeks I neither liked his stories nor believed them. 

Robert Jones was very impressed by Gertrude Stein's looks. He said 
he would like to array her in cloth of gold and he wanted to design it 
then and there. It did not interest her. 

Among the people that we had met at John Lane's in London was 
Gordon Caine and her husband. Gordon Caine had been a Wellesley 
girl who played the harp with which she always travelled, and who al- 
ways re-arranged the furniture in the hotel room completely, even if she 
was only to stay one night. She was tall, rosy-haired and very good-look- 
ing. Her husband was a well known humorous english writer and one 
of John Lane's authors. They, had entertained us very pleasantly in Lon- 
don and we asked them to dine with us their first night in Paris. I don't 
know quite what happened but Helene cooked a very bad dinner. Only 
twice in all her long service did Helene fail us. This time and when about 
two weeks later Carl Van Vechten turned up. That time too she did 
strange things, her dinner consisting of a series of hors d'ceuvres. How- 
ever that is later. 

During dinner Mrs. Caine said that she had taken the liberty of ask- 
ing her very dear friend and college mate Mrs. Van Vechten to come 
in after dinner because she was very anxious that she should meet Ger- 
trude Stein as she was very depressed and unhappy and Gertrude Stein 
could undoubtedly have an influence for the good in her life. Gertrude 
Stein said that she had a vague association with the name of Van Vech- 
ten but could not remember what it was. She has a bad memory for 
names. Mrs. Van Vechten came. She too was a very tall woman, it would 
appear that a great many tall ones go to Wellesley, and she too was 
good-looking. Mrs. Van Vechten told the story of the tragedy of her 
married life but Gertrude Stein was not particularly interested. 

It was about a week later that .Florence Bradley asked us to go with 
her to see the second performance of the Sacre du Printemps. The rus- 

1907-1914 113 

sian ballet had just given the first performance of it and it had made 
a terrible uproar. All Paris was excited about it. Florence Bradley had 
gotten three tickets in a box, the box held four, and asked us to go with 
her. In the meantime there had been a letter from Mabel Dodge intro- 
ducing Carl Van Vechten, a young New York journalist. Gertrude Stein 
invited him to dine the following Saturday evening. 

We went early to the russian ballet, these were the early great days of 
the russian ballet with Nijinsky as the great dancer. And a great dancer 
he was. Dancing excites me tremendously and it is a thing I know a 
great deal about. I have seen three very great dancers. My geniuses seem 
to run in threes, but that is not my fault, it happens to be a fact. The 
three really great dancers I have seen are the Argentina, Isadora Duncan 
and Nijinsky. Like the three geniuses I have known they are each one 
of a different nationality. 

Nijinsky did not dance in the Sacre du Printemps but he created the 
dance of those who did dance. 

We arrived in the box and sat down in the three front chairs leaving 
one chair behind. Just in front of us in the seats below was Guillaume 
Apollinaire. He was dressed in evening clothes and he was industriously 
kissing various important looking ladies' hands. He was the first one of 
his crowd to come out into the great world wearing evening clothes and 
kissing hands. We were very amused and very pleased to see him do it. 
It was the first time we had seen him doing it. After the war they all did 
these things but he was the only one to commence before the war. 

Just before the performance began the fourth chair in our box was oc- 
cupied. We looked around and there was a tall well-built young man, 
he might have been a dutchman, a Scandinavian or an american and he 
wore a soft evening shirt with the tiniest pleats all over the front of it. 
It was impressive, we had never even heard that they were wearing 
evening shirts like that. That evening when we got home Gertrude Stein 
did a portrait of the unknown called a Portrait of One. 

The performance began. No sooner had it commenced when the ex- 
citement began. The scene now so well known with its brilliantly col- 
oured background now not at all extraordinary, outraged the Paris 
audience. No sooner did the music begin and the dancing than they 
began to hiss. The defenders began to applaud. We could hear nothing, 
as a matter of fact I never did hear any of the music of the Sacre du 
Printemps because it was the only time I ever saw it and one literally 


could not, throughout the whole performance, hear the sound of music. 
The dancing was very fine and that we could see although our atten- 
tion was constantly distracted by a man in the box next to us flourish- 
ing his cane, and finally in a violent altercation with an enthusiast in 
the box next to him, his cane came down and smashed the opera hat the 
other had just put on in defiance. It was all incredibly fierce. 

The next Saturday evening Carl Van Vechten was to come to dinner. 
He came and he was the young man of the soft much-pleated evening 
shirt and it was the same shirt. Also of course he was the hero or villain 
of Mrs. Van Vechten's tragic tale. 

As I said Helene did for the second time in her life make an extraor- 
dinarily bad dinner. For some reason best known to herself she gave us 
course after course of hors d'oeuvres finishing up with a sweet omelet. 
Gertrude Stein began to tease Carl Van Vechten by dropping a word 
here and there of intimate knowledge of his past life. He was naturally 
bewildered. It was a curious evening. 

Gertrude Stein and he became dear friends. 

He interested Allan and Louise Norton in her work and induced them 
to print in the little magazine they founded, The Rogue, the first thing 
of Gertrude Stein's ever printed in a little magazine, The Galerie 
Lafayette. In another number of this now rare little magazine, he printed 
a little essay on the work of Gertrude Stein. It was he who in one of his 
early books printed as a motto the device on Gertrude Stein's note-paper, 
a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. Just recently she has had made for him 
by our local potter at the foot of the hill at Belley some plates in the yel- 
low clay of the country and around the border is a rose is a rose is aVose 
is a rose and in the centre is to Carl. 

In season and out he kept her name and her work before the public. 
When he was beginning to be well known and they asked him what he 
thought the most important book of the year he replied Three Lives by 
Gertrude Stein. His loyalty and his effort never weakened. He tried to 
make Knopf publish The Making of Americans and he almost suc- 
ceeded but of course they weakened. 

Speaking of the device of rose is a rose is a rose is a rose, it was I who 
found it in one of Gertrude Stein's manuscripts and insisted upon put- 
ting it as a device on the letter paper, on the table linen and anywhere 
that she would permit that I would put it. I am very pleased with myself 
for having done so. 

1907-1914 115 

Carl Van Vcchten has had a delightful habit all these years of giving 
letters of introduction to people who he thought would amuse Gertrude 
Stein. This he has done with so much discrimination that she has liked 
them all. 

The first and perhaps the one she has liked the best was Avery Hop- 
wood. The friendship lasted until Avery's death a few years ago. When 
Avery came to Paris he always asked Gertrude Stein and myself to dine 
with him. This custom began in the early days of the acquaintance. 
Gertrude Stein is not a very enthusiastic diner-out but she never refused 
Avery. He always had the table charmingly decorated with flowers and 
the menu most carefully chosen. He sent us endless petits bleus, little 
telegrams, arranging this affair and we alwaysjiad a good time. In these 
early days, holding his head a little on one side and with his tow-coloured 
hair, he looked like a lamb. Sometimes in the latter days as Gertrude 
Stein told him the lamb turned into a wolf. Gertrude Stein would I 
know at this moment say, dear Avery. They were very fond of each 
other. Not long before his death he came into the room one day and said 
I wish I could give you something else beside just dinner, he said, per- 
haps I could give you a picture. Gertrude Stein laughed, it is alright, she 
said to him, Avery, if you will always come here and take just tea. And 
then in the future beside the petit bleu in which he proposed our dining 
with him he would send another petit bleu saying that he would come 
one afternoon to take just tea. Once he came and brought with him Ger- 
trude /ftherton. He said so sweetly, I want the two Gertrudes whom I 
love so much to know each other. It was a perfectly delightful after- 
noon. Every one was pleased and charmed and as for me a californian, 
Gertrude Atherton had been my youthful idol and so I was very content. 

The last time we saw Avery was on his last visit to Paris. He sent his 
usual message asking us to dinner and when he came to call for us he 
told Gertrude Stein that he had asked some of his friends to come be- 
cause he was going to ask her to do something for him. You see, he said, 
you have never gone to Montmartre with me and I have a great fancy 
that you should to-night. I know it was your Montmartre long before it 
was mine but would you. She laughed and said, of course Avery. 

We did after dinner go up to Montmartre with him. We went to a 
great many queer places and he was so proud and pleased. We were 
always going in a cab from one place to another and Avery Hopwood 
and Gertrude Stein went together and they had long talks and Avery 


must have had some premonition that it was the last time because he 
had never talked so openly and so intimately. Finally we left and he 
came out and put us into a cab and he told Gertrude Stein it had been 
one of the best evenings of his life. He left the next day for the south 
and we for the country. A little while after Gertrude Stein had a postal 
from him telling her how happy he had been to see her again and the 
same morning there was the news of his death in the Herald. 

It was about nineteen twelve that Alvin Langdon Coburn turned up 
in Paris. He was a queer american who brought with him a queer 
english woman, his adopted mother. Alvin Langdon Coburn had just 
finished a series of photographs that he had done for Henry James. He 
had published a book of photographs of prominent men and he wished 
now to do a companion volume of prominent women. I imagine it was 
Roger Fry who had told him about Gertrude Stein. At any rate he was 
the first photographer to come and photograph her as a celebrity and 
she was nicely gratified. He did make some very good photographs of 
her and gave them to her and then he disappeared and though Gertrude 
Stein has often asked about him nobody seems ever to have heard of him 

This brings us pretty well to the spring of nineteen fourteen. During 
this winter among the people who used to come to the house was the 
younger step-daughter of Bernard Berenson. She brought with her a 
young friend, Hope Mirlees and Hope said that when we went to 
England in the summer we must go down to Cambridge and sfay with 
her people. We promised that we would. 

During the winter Gertrude Stein's brother decided that he would go 
to Florence to live. They divided the pictures that they had bought to- 
gether, between them. Gertrude Stein kept the Cezannes and Picassos 
and her brother the Matisses and Renoirs, with the exception of the 
original Femme au Chapeau. 

We planned that we would have a little passage-way made between 
the studio and the little house and as that entailed cutting a door and 
plastering we decided that we would paint the atelier and repaper the 
house and put in electricity. We proceeded to have all this done. It was 
the end of June before this was accomplished and the house had not yet 
been put in order when Gertrude Stein received a letter from John Lane 
saying he would be in Paris the following day and would come to see her. 

1907-1914 117 

We worked very hard, that is I did and the concierge and Helene 
and the room was ready to receive him. 

He brought with him the first copy of Blast by Wyndham Lewis and 
he gave it to Gertrude Stein and wanted to know what she thought of 
it and would she write for it. She said she did not know. 

John Lane then asked her if she would come to London in July as he 
had almost made up his mind to republish the Three Lives and would 
she bring another manuscript with her. She said she would and she 
suggested a collection of all the portraits she had done up to that time. 
The Making of Americans was not considered because it was too long. 
And so that having been arranged John Lane left. 

In those days Picasso having lived rather sadly in the rue Schoelcher 
was to move a little further out to Montrouge. It was not an unhappy time 
for him but after the Montmartre days one never heard his high whinny- 
ing Spanish giggle. His friends, a great many of them, had followed him 
to Montparnasse but it was not the same. The intimacy with Braque was 
waning and of his old friends the only ones he saw frequently were 
Guillaume Apollinaire and Gertrude Stein. It was in that year that he 
began to use ripolin paints instead of the usual colours used by painters. 
Just the other day he was talking a long time about the ripolin paints. 
They are, said he gravely, la same des couleurs, that is they are the basis 
of good health for paints. In those days he painted pictures and every- 
thing with ripolin paints as he still does, and as so many of his follow- 
ers young and old do. 

He was at this time too making constructions in paper, in tin and in all 
sorts of things, the sort of thing that made it possible for him afterwards 
to do the famous stage setting for Parade. 

It was in these days that Mildred Aldrich was preparing to retire to 
the Hilltop on the Marne. She too was not unhappy but rather sad. She 
wanted us often in those spring evenings to take a cab and have what 
she called our last ride together. She more often than ever dropped her 
house key all the way down the centre of the stairway while she called 
good-night to us from the top story of the apartment house on the rue 

We often went out to the country with her to see her house. Finally 
she moved in. We went out and spent the day with her. Mildred was not 
unhappy but she was very sad. My curtains are all up, my books in order, 


everything is clean and what shall I do now, said Mildred. I told her that 
when I was a little girl, my mother said that I always used to say, what 
shall I do now, which was only varied by now what shall I do. Mildred 
said that the worst of it was that we were going to London and that she 
would not see us all summer. We assured her that we would only stay 
away a month, in fact we had return tickets, and so we had to, and as soon 
as we got home we would go out to see her. Anyway she was happy that 
at last Gertrude Stein was going to have a publisher who would publish 
her books. But look out for John Lane, he is a fox, she said, as we kissed 
her and left. 

Helene was leaving 27 rue de Fleurus because, her husband having 
recently been promoted to be foreman in his work shop he insisted that 
she must not work out any longer but must stay at home. 

In short in this spring and early summer of nineteen fourteen the old 
life was over. 

6 The War 

Americans living in Europe before the war never really believed that 
there was going to be war. Gertrude Stein always tells about the little 
janitor's boy who, playing in the court, would regularly every couple of 
years assure her that papa was going to the war. Once some cousins of 
hers were living in Paris, they had a country girl as a servant. It was the 
time of the russian-japanese war and they were all talking about the 
latest news. Terrified she dropped the platter and cried, and are the ger- 
mans at the gates. 

William Cook's father was an lowan who at seventy years of age was 
making his first trip in Europe in the summer of nineteen fourteen. 
When the war was upon them he refused to believe it and explained 
that he could understand a family fighting among themselves, in short 
a civil war, but not a serious war with one's neighbours. 

Gertrude Stein in 1913 and 1914 had been very interested reading the 
newspapers. She rarely read french newspapers, she never read anything 
in french, and she always read the Herald. That winter she added the 
Daily Mail. She liked to read about the suffragettes and she liked to read 
about Lord Roberts' campaign for compulsory military service in 
England. Lord Roberts had been a favourite hero of hers early in her 
life. His Forty-One Years In India was a book she often read and she 
had seen Lord Roberts when she and her brother, then taking a college 
vacation, had seen Edward the Seventh's coronation procession. She 
read the Daily Mail, although, as she said, she was not interested in 

We went to England July fifth and went according to programme 
to see John Lane at his house Sunday afternoon. 

There were a number of people there and they were talking of many 
things but some of them were talking about war. One of them, some 
one told me he was an editorial writer on one of the big London dailies, 
was bemoaning the fact that he would not be able to eat figs in August 



in Provence as was his habit. . Why not, asked some one. Because of the 
war, he answered. Some one else, Walpole or his brother I think it was, 
said that there was no hope of beating Germany as she had such an 
excellent system, all her railroad trucks were numbered in connection 
with locomotives and switches. But, said the eater of figs, that is all very 
well as long as the trucks remain in Germany on their own lines and 
switches, but in an aggressive war they will leave the frontiers of Ger- 
many and then, well I promise you then there will be a great deal of num- 
bered confusion. 

This is all I remember definitely of that Sunday afternoon in July. 

As we were leaving, John Lane said to Gertrude Stein that he was 
going out of town for a week and he made a rendezvous with her in his 
office for the end of July, to sign the contract for Three Lives. I think, he 
said, in the present state of affairs I would rather begin with that than 
with something more entirely new. I have confidence in that book. Mrs. 
Lane is very enthusiastic and so are the readers. 

Having now ten days on our hands we decided to accept the invitation 
of Mrs. Mirlees, Hope's mother, and spend a few days in Cambridge. 
We went there and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. 

It was a most comfortable 'house to visit. Gertrude Stein liked it, she 
could stay in her room or in the garden as much as she liked without 
hearing too much conversation. The food was excellent, scotch food, 
delicious and fresh, and it was very amusing meeting all the University 
of Cambridge dignitaries. We were taken into all the gardens and in- 
vited into many of the homes. It was lovely weather, quantities of roses, 
morris-dancing by all the students and girls and generally delightful. 
We were invited to lunch at Newnham, Miss Jane Harrison, who had 
been Hope Mirlees' pet enthusiasm, was much interested in meeting 
Gertrude Stein. We sat up on the dais with the faculty and it was very 
awe inspiring. The conversation was not however particularly amusing. 
Miss Harrison and Gertrude Stein did not particularly interest each 

We had been hearing a good deal about Doctor and Mrs. Whitehead. 
They no longer lived in Cambridge. The year before Doctor Whitehead 
had left Cambridge to go to London University. They were to be in 
Cambridge shortly and they were to dine at the Mirlees'. They did and 
I met my third genius. 

It was a pleasant dinner. I sat next to Housman, the Cambridge poet, 

THE WAR 121 

and we talked about fishes and David Starr Jordan but all the time I 
was more interested in watching Doctor Whitehead. Later we went into 
the garden and he came and sat next to me and we talked about the sky 
in Cambridge. 

Gertrude Stein and Doctor Whitehead and Mrs. Whitehead all be- 
came interested in each other. Mrs. Whitehead asked us to dine at her 
house in London and then to spend a week end, the last week end in July 
with them in their country home in Lockridge, near Salisbury Plain. We 
accepted with pleasure. 

We went back to London and had a lovely time. We were ordering 
some comfortable chairs and a comfortable couch covered with chintz 
to replace some of the italian furniture that Gertrude Stein's brother had 
taken with him. This took a great deal of time. We had to measure our- 
selves into the chairs and into the couch and to choose chintz that would 
go with the pictures, all of which we successfully achieved. These chairs 
and this couch, and they are comfortable, in spite of war came to the 
door one day in January, nineteen fifteen at the rue de Fleurus and were 
greeted by us with the greatest delight. One needed such comforting 
and such comfort in those days. We dined with the Whiteheads and 
liked them more than ever and they liked us more than ever and were 
kind enough to say so. 

Gertrude Stein kept her appointment with John Lane at the Bodley 
Head. They had a very long conversation, this time so long that I quite 
exhausted all the shop windows of that region for quite a distance, but 
finally Gertrude Stein came out with a contract. It was a gratifying 

Then we took the train to Lockridge to spend the week end with the 
Whiteheads. We had a week-end trunk, we were very proud of our 
week-end trunk, we had used it on our first visit and now we were 
actively using it again. As one of my friends said to me later, they asked 
you to spend the week end and you stayed six weeks. We did. 

There was quite a house party when we arrived, some Cambridge 
people, some young men, the younger son of the Whiteheads, Eric, then 
fifteen years old but very tall and flower-like and the daughter Jessie 
just back from Newnham. There could not have been much serious 
thought of war because they were all talking of Jessie Whitehead's com- 
ing trip to Finland. Jessie always made friends with foreigners from 
strange places, she had a passion for geography and a passion for the 


glory of the British Empire. She had a friend, a firm, who had asked her 
to spend the summer with her people in Finland and had promised 
Jessie a possible uprising against Russia. Mrs. Whitehead was hesitating 
but had practically consented. There was an older son North who was 
away at the time. 

Then suddenly, as I remember, there were the conferences to prevent 
the war, Lord Grey and the russian minister of foreign affairs. And then 
before anything further could happen the ultimatum to France. Ger- 
trude Stein and I were completely miserable as was Evelyn Whitehead, 
who had french blood and who had been raised in France and had strong 
french sympathies. Then came the days of the invasion of Belgium and 
I can still hear Doctor Whitehead's gentle voice reading the papers out 
loud and then all of them talking about the destruction of Louvain and 
how they must help the brave little belgians. Gertrude Stein desperately 
unhappy said to me, where is Louvain. Don't you know, I said. No, she 
said, nor do I care, but where is it. 

Our week end was over and we told Mrs. Whitehead that we must 
leave. But you cannot get back to Paris now, she said. No, we answered, 
but we can stay in London. Oh no, she said, you must stay with us until 
you can get back to Paris. She was very sweet and we were very un- 
happy and we liked them and they liked us and we agreed to stay. And 
then to our infinite relief England came into the war. 

We had to go to London to get our trunks, to cable to people in 
America and to draw money, and Mrs. Whitehead wished to go in to 
see if she and her daughter could do anything to help the belgians. I re- 
member that trip so well. There seemed so many people about every- 
where, although the train was not overcrowded, but all the stations even 
little country ones, were filled with people, not people at all troubled but 
just a great many people. At the junction where we were to change 
trains we met Lady Astley, a friend of Myra Edgerly's whom we had 
met in Paris. Oh how do you do, she said in a cheerful loud voice, I am 
going to London to say goodbye to my son. Is he going away, we said 
politely. Oh yes, she said, he is in the guards you know, and is leaving to- 
night for France. 

In London everything was difficult. Gertrude Stein's letter of credit 
was on a french bank but mine luckily small was on a California one. I 
say luckily small because the banks would not give large sums but my 

THE WAR 123 

letter of credit was so small and so almost used up that they without hesi- 
tation gave me all that there was left of it. 

Gertrude Stein cabled to her cousin in Baltimore to send her money, 
we gathered in our trunks, we met Evelyn Whitehead at the train and 
we went back with her to Lockridge. It was a relief to get back. We ap- 
preciated her kindness because to have been at a hotel in London at that 
moment would have been too dreadful. 

Then one day followed another and it is hard to remember just what 
happened. North Whitehead was away and Mrs. Whitehead was ter- 
ribly worried lest he should rashly enlist. She must see him. So they 
telegraphed to him to come at once. He came. She had been quite right. 
He had immediately gone to the nearest recruiting station to enlist and 
luckily there had been so many in front of him that the office closed be- 
fore he was admitted. She immediately went to London to see Kitchener. 
Doctor Whitehead's brother was a bishop in India and he had in his 
younger days known Kitchener very intimately. Mrs. Whitehead had 
this introduction and North was given a commission. She came home 
much relieved. North was to join in three days but in the meantime 
he must learn to drive a motor car. The three days passed very quickly 
and North was gone. He left immediately for France and without much 
equipment. And then came the time of waiting. 

Evelyn Whitehead was very busy planning war work and helping 
every one and I as far as possible helped her. Gertrude Stein and Doctor 
Whitehead walked endlessly around the country. They talked of phi- 
losophy and history, it was during these days that Gertrude Stein realised 
how completely it was Doctor Whitehead and not Russell who had had 
the ideas for their great book. Doctor Whitehead, the gentlest and most 
simply generous of human beings never claimed anything for himself 
and enormously admired anyone who was brilliant, and Russell un- 
doubtedly was brilliant. 

Gertrude Stein used to come back and tell me about these walks and 
the country still the same as in the days of Chaucer, with the green paths 
of the early britons that could still be seen in long stretches, and the triple 
rainbows of that strange summer. They used, Doctor Whitehead and 
Gertrude Stein, to have long conversations with game-keepers and mole- 
catchers. The mole-catcher had said, but sir, England has never been in 
a war but that she has been victorious. Doctor Whitehead turned to Ger- 


trude Stein with a gentle smile. I think we may say so, he said. The 
game-keeper, when Doctor Whitehead seemed discouraged said to him, 
but Doctor Whitehead, England is the predominant nation, is she not. 
I hope she is, yes I hope she is, replied Doctor Whitehead gently. 

The germans were getting nearer and nearer Paris. One day Doctor 
Whitehead said to Gertrude Stein, they were just going through a rough 
little wood and he was helping her, have you any copies of your writings 
or are they all in Paris. They are all in Paris, she said. I did not like to 
ask, said Doctor Whitehead, but I have been worrying. 

The germans were getting nearer and nearer Paris and the last day 
Gertrude Stein could not leave her room, she sat and mourned. She loved 
Paris, she thought neither of manuscripts nor of, pictures, she thought 
only of Paris and she was desolate. I came up to her room, I called out, 
it is alright Paris is saved, the germans are in retreat. She turned away 
and said, don't tell me these things. But it's true, I said, it is true. And 
then we wept together. 

The first description that any one we knew received in England of 
the battle of the Marne came in a letter to Gertrude Stein from Mildred 
Aldrich. It was practically the first letter of her book the Hilltop on the 
Marne. We were delighted to receive it, to know that Mildred was safe, 
and to know all about it. It was passed around and everybody in the 
neighbourhood read it. 

Later when we returned to Paris we had two other descriptions of the 
battle of the Marne. I had an old school friend from California, Nellie 
Jacot who lived in Boulogne-sur-Seine and I was very worried about her. 
I telegraphed to her and she telegraphed back characteristically, Nulle- 
ment en danger ne t'inquiete pas, there is no danger don't worry. It was 
Nellie who used to call Picasso in the early days a good-looking boot- 
black and used to say of Fernande, she is alright but I don't see why 
you bother about her. It was also Nellie who made Matisse blush by 
cross-questioning him about the different ways he saw Madame Matisse, 
how she looked to him as a wife and how she looked to him as a picture, 
and how he could change from one to the other. It was also Nellie who 
told the story which Gertrude Stein loved to quote, of a young man who 
once said to her, I love you Nellie, Nellie is your name, isn't it. It was 
also Nellie who when we came back from England and we said that 
everybody had been so kind, said, oh yes, I know that kind. 

Nellie described the battle of the Marne to us. You know, she said, I 

THE WAR 125 

always come to town once a week to shop and I always bring my maid. 
We come in in the street car because it is difficult to get a taxi in Boulogne 
and we go back in a taxi. Well we came in as usual and didn't notice 
anything and when we had finished our shopping and had had our tea 
we stood on a corner to get a taxi. We stopped several and when they 
heard where we wanted to go they drove on. I know that sometimes taxi 
drivers don't like to go out to Boulogne so I said to Marie tell them we 
will give them a big tip if they will go. So she stopped another taxi with 
an old driver and I said to him, I will give you a very big tip to take us 
out to Boulogne. Ah, said he laying his finger on his nose, to my great 
regret madame it is impossible, no taxi can leave the city limits to-day. 
Why, I asked. He winked in answer and drove off. We had to go back 
to Boulogne in a street car. Of course we understood later, when we 
heard about Gallieni and the taxis, said Nellie and added, and that was 
the battle of the Marne. 

Another description of the battle of the Marne when we first came 
back to Paris was from Alfy Maurer. I was sitting, said Alfy at a cafe 
and Paris was pale, if you know what I mean, said Alfy, it was like a 
pale absinthe. Well I was sitting there and then I noticed lots of horses 
pulling lots of big trucks going slowly by and there were some soldiers 
with them and on the boxes was written Banque de France. That was 
the gold going away just like that, said Alfy, before the battle of the 

In those dark days of waiting in England of course a great many things 
happened. There were a great many people coming and going in the 
Whiteheads' home and there was of course plenty of discussion. First 
there was Lytton Strachey. He lived in a little house not far from Lock- 

He came one evening to see Mrs. Whitehead. He was a thin sallow 
man with a silky beard and a faint high voice. We had met him the year 
before when we had been invited to meet George Moore at the house 
of Miss Ethel Sands. Gertrude Stein and George Moore, who looked 
very like a prosperous Mellins Food baby, had not been interested in 
each other. Lytton Strachey and I talked together about Picasso and the 
russian ballet. 

He came in this evening and he and Mrs. Whitehead discussed the 
possibility of rescuing Lytton Strachey 's sister who was lost in Germany. 
She suggested that he apply to a certain person who could help him. But, 


said Lytton Strachey faintly, I have never met him. Yes, said Mrs. White- 
head, but you might write to him and ask to see him. Not, replied Lytton 
Strachey faintly, if I have never met him. 

Another person who turned up during that week was Bertrand Rus- 
sell. He came to Lockridge the day North Whitehead left for the front. 
He was a pacifist and argumentative and although they were very old 
friends Doctor and Mrs. Whitehead did not think they could bear hear- 
ing his views just then. He came and Gertrude Stein, to divert every- 
body's mind from the burning question of war or peace, introduced the 
subject of education. This caught Russell and he explained all the weak- 
nesses of the american system of education, particularly their neglect of 
the study of greek, Gertrude Stein replied that of cpurse England which 
was an island needed Greece which was or might have been an island. 
At any rate greek was essentially an island culture, while America 
needed essentially the culture of a continent which was of necessity 
latin. This argument fussed Mr. Russell, he became very eloquent. Ger- 
trude Stein then became very earnest and gave a long discourse on the 
value of greek to the english, aside from its being an island, and the lack 
of value of greek culture for the arnericans based upon the psychology 
of americans as different from the psychology of the english. She grew 
very eloquent on the disembodied abstract quality of the american char- 
acter and cited examples, mingling automobiles with Emerson, and all 
proving that they did not need greek, in a way that fussed Russell more 
and more and kept everybody occupied until everybody went to bed. 

There were many discussions in those days. The bishop, the brother 
of Doctor Whitehead and his family came to lunch. They all talked con- 
stantly about how England had come into the war to save Belgium. At 
last my nerves could bear it no longer and I blurted out, why do you 
say that, why do you not say that you are fighting for England, I do not 
consider it a disgrace to fight for one's country. 

Mrs. Bishop, the bishop's wife was very funny on this occasion. She 
said solemnly to Gertrude Stein, Miss Stein you are I understand an im- 
portant person in Paris. I think it would come very well from a neutral 
like yourself to suggest to the french government that they give us 
Pondichery. It would be very useful to us. Gertrude Stein replied po- 
litely that to her great regret her importance such as it was was 
among painters and writers and not with politicians. But that, said Mrs. 
Bishop, would make no difference. You should I think suggest to the 

THE WAR 127 

french government that they give us Pondichery. After lunch Gertrude 
Stein said to me under her breath, where the hell is Pondichery. 

Gertrude Stein used to get furious when the english all talked about 
german organisation. She used to insist that the germans had no or- 
ganisation, they had method but no organisation. Don't you understand 
the difference, she used to say angrily, any two americans, any twenty 
americans, any millions of americans can organise themselves to do 
something but germans cannot organise themselves to do anything, they 
can formulate a method and this method can be put upon them but that 
isn't organisation. The germans, she used to insist, are not modern, they 
are a backward people who have made a method of what we conceive 
as organisation, can't you see. They cannot therefore possibly win this 
war because they are not modern. 

Then another thing that used to annoy us dreadfully was the english 
statement that the germans in America would turn America against the 
allies. Don't be silly, Gertrude Stein used to say to any and all of them, 
if you do not realise that the fundamental sympathy in America is with 
France and England and could never be with a mediaeval country like 
Germany, you cannot understand America. We are republican, she used 
to say with energy, profoundly intensely and completely a republic and 
a republic can have everything in common with France and a great deal 
in common with England but whatever its form of government nothing 
in common with Germany. How often I have heard her then and since 
explain that americans are republicans living in a republic which is so 
much a republic that it could never be anything else. 

The long summer wore on. It was beautiful weather and beautiful 
country, and Doctor Whitehead and Gertrude Stein never ceased wan- 
dering around in it and talking about all things. 

From time to time we went to London. We went regularly to Cook's 
office to know when we might go back to Paris and they always answered 
not yet. Gertrude Stein went to see John Lane. He was terribly upset. 
He was passionately patriotic. He said of course he was doing nothing 
at present but publishing war-books but soon very soon things would be 
different or perhaps the war would be over. 

Gertrude Stein's cousin and my father sent us money by the United 
States cruiser Tennessee. We went to get it. We were each one put on 
the scale and our heights measured and then they gave the money to 
us. How, said we to one another, can a cousin who has not seen you in 


ten years and a father who has not seen me for six years possibly know 
our heights and our weights. It had always been a puzzle. Four years 
ago Gertrude Stein's cousin came to Paris and the first thing she said 
to him was, Julian how did you know my weight and height when you 
sent me money by the Tennessee. Did I know it, he said. Well, she said, 
at any rate they had written it down that you did. I cannot remember 
of course, he said, but if any one were to ask me now I would naturally 
send to Washington for a copy of your passport and I probably did that 
then. And so was the mystery solved. 

We also had to go to the american embassy to get temporary passports 
to go back to Paris. We had no papers, nobody had any papers in those 
days. Gertrude Stein as a matter of fact had what they called in Paris a 
papier de matriculation which stated that she was an american and a 
french resident. 

The embassy was very full of not very american looking citizens wait- 
ing their turn. Finally we were ushered in to a very tired looking young 
american. Gertrude Stein remarked upon the number of not very ameri- 
can looking citizens that were waiting. The young american sighed. 
They are easier, he said, because they have papers, it is only the native 
born american who has no papers. Well what do you do about them, 
asked Gertrude Stein. We guess, he said, and we hope we guess right. 
And now, said he, will you take the oath. Oh dear, he said, I have said it 
so often I have forgotten it. 

By the fifteenth of October Cook's said we could go back to Paris. Mrs. 
Whitehead was to go with us. North, her son, had left without an over- 
coat, and she had secured one and she was afraid he would not get it 
until much later if she sent it the ordinary way. She arranged to go to 
Paris and deliver it to him herself or find some one who would take it 
to him directly. She had papers from the war office and Kitchener and 
we started. 

I remember the leaving London very little, I cannot even remember 
whether it was day-light or not but it must have been because when 
we were on the channel boat it was day-light. The boat was crowded. 
There were quantities of belgian soldiers and officers escaped from Ant- 
werp, all with tired eyes. It was our first experience of the tired but 
watchful eyes of soldiers. We finally were able to arrange a seat for Mrs. 
Whitehead who had been ill and soon we were in France. Mrs. White- 
head's papers were so overpowering that there were no delays and soon 

THE WAR 129 

we were in the train and about ten o'clock at night we were in Paris. We 
took a taxi and drove through Paris, beautiful and unviolated, to the 
rue de Fleurus. We were once more at home. 

Everybody who had seemed so far away came to see us. Alfy Maurer 
described being on the Marne at his favourite village, he always fished 
the Marne, and the mobilisation locomotive coming and the germans 
were coming and he was so frightened and he tried to get a conveyance 
and finally after terrific efforts he succeeded and got back to Paris. As 
he left Gertrude Stein went with him to the door and came back smiling. 
Mrs. Whitehead said with some constraint, Gertrude you have always 
spoken so warmly of Alfy Maurer but how can you like a man who 
shows himself not only selfish but a coward and at a time like this. He 
thought only of saving himself and he after all was a neutral. Gertrude 
Stein burst out laughing. You foolish woman, she said, didn't you un- 
derstand, of course Alfy had his girl with him and he was scared to death 
lest she should fall into the hands of the germans. 

There were not many people in Paris just then and we liked it and we 
wandered around Paris and it was so nice to be there, wonderfully nice. 
Soon Mrs. Whitehead found means of sending her son's coat to him and 
went back to England and we settled down for the winter. 

Gertrude Stein sent copies of her manuscripts to friends in New York 
to keep for her. We hoped that all danger was over but still it seemed 
better to do so and there were Zeppelins to come. London had been com- 
pletely darkened at night before we left. Paris continued to have its usual 
street lights until January. 

How it all happened I do not at all remember but it was through Carl 
Van Vechten and had something to do with the Nortons, but at any 
rate there was a letter from Donald Evans proposing to publish three 
manuscripts to make a small book and would Gertrude Stein suggest 
a title for them. Of these three manuscripts two had been written during 
our first trip into Spain and Food, Rooms etcetera, immediately on our 
return. They were the beginning, as Gertrude Stein would say, of mixing 
the' outside with the inside. Hitherto she had been concerned with seri- 
ousness and the inside of things, in these studies she began to describe 
the inside as seen from the outside. She was awfully pleased at the idea 
of these three things being published, and immediately consented, and 
suggested the title of Tender Buttons. Donald Evans called his firm the 
Claire Marie and he sent over a contract just like any other contract. 


We took it for granted that there was a Claire Marie but there evidently 
was not. There were printed of this edition I forget whether it was seven 
hundred and fifty or a thousand copies but at any rate it was a very 
charming little book and Gertrude Stein was enormously pleased, and 
it, as every one knows, had an enormous influence on all young writers 
and started ofl columnists in the newspapers of the whole country on 
their long campaign of ridicule. I must say that when the columnists are 
really funny, and they quite often are, Gertrude Stein chuckles and reads 
them aloud to me. 

In the meantime the dreary winter of fourteen and fifteen went on. 
One night, I imagine it must have been about the end of January, I had 
as was and is my habit gone to bed very early, and Gertrude Stein was 
down in the studio working, as was her habit. Suddenly I heard her call 
me gently. What is it, I said. Oh nothing, said she, but perhaps if you 
don't mind putting on something warm and coming downstairs I think 
perhaps it would be better. What is it, I said, a revolution. The concierges 
and the wives of the concierges were all always talking about a revolu- 
tion. The french are so accustomed to revolutions, they have had so 
many, that when anything happens they immediately think and say, 
revolution. Indeed Gertrude Stein once said rather impatiently to some 
french soldiers when they said something about a revolution, you are 
silly, you have had one perfectly good revolution and several not quite 
so good ones; for an intelligent people it seems to me foolish to be always 
thinking of repeating yourselves. They looked very sheepish and said, 
bien sur mademoiselle, in other words, sure you're right. 

Well I too said when she woke me, is it a revolution and are there 
soldiers. No, she said, not exactly. Well what is it, said I impatiently. I 
don't quite know, she answered, but there has been an alarm. Anyway 
you had better come. I started to turn on the light. No, she said, you had 
better not. Give me your hand and I will get you down and you can go 
to sleep down stairs on the couch. I came. It was very dark. I sat down 
on the couch and then 1 said, I'm sure I don't know what is the matter 
with me but my knees are knocking together. Gertrude Stein burst out 
laughing, wait a minute, I will get you a blanket, she said. No don't leave 
me, I said. She managed to find something to cover me and then there 
was a loud boom, then several more. It was a soft noise and then there 
was the sound of horns blowing in the streets and then we knew it was 
all over. We lighted the lights and went to bed. 

THE WAR 131 

I must say I would not have believed it was true that knees knocked 
together as described in poetry and prose if it had not happened to me. 

The next time there was a Zeppelin alarm and it was not very long 
after this first one, Picasso and Eve were dining with us. By this time 
we knew that the two-story building of the atelier was no more pro- 
tection than the roof of the little pavilion under which we slept and the 
concierge had suggested that we should go into her room where at least 
we would have six stories over us. Eve was not very well these days and 
and fearful so we all went into the concierge's room. Even Jeanne Poule 
the Breton servant who had succeeded Helene, came too. Jeanne soon 
was bored with this precaution and so in spite of all remonstrance, she 
went back to her kitchen, lit her light, in spite of the regulations, and 
proceeded to wash the dishes. We soon too got bored with the concierge's 
loge and went back to the atelier. We put a candle under the table so 
that it would not make much light, Eve and I tried to sleep and Picasso 
and Gertrude Stein talked until two in the morning when the all's clear 
sounded and they went home. 

Picasso and Eve were living these days on the rue Schcclcher in a 
rather sumptuous studio apartment that looked over the cemetery. It was 
not very gay. The only excitement were the letters from Guillaume 
Apollinaire who was falling off of horses in the endeavour to become an 
artilleryman. The only other intimates at that time were a russian whom 
they called G. Apostrophe and his sister the baron ne. They bought all 
the Rousseaus that were in Rousseau's atelier when he died. They had 
an apartment in the boulevard Raspail above Victor Hugo's tree and 
they were not unamusing. Picasso learnt the russian alphabet from them 
and began putting it into some of his pictures. 

It was not a very cheerful winter. People came in and out, new ones 
and old ones. Ellen La Motte turned up, she was very heroic but gun shy. 
She wanted to go to Servia and Emily Chadbourne wanted to go with 
her but they did not go. 

Gertrude Stein wrote a little novelette about this event. 

Ellen La Motte collected a set of souvenirs of the war for her cousin 
Dupont de Nemours. The stories of how she got them were diverting. 
Everybody brought you souvenirs in those days, steel arrows that pierced 
horses' heads, pieces of shell, ink-wells made out of pieces of shell, hel- 
mets, some one even offered us a piece of a Zeppelin or an aeroplane, 
I forget which, but we declined. It was a strange winter and nothing 


and everything happened. If I remember rightly it was at this time that 
some one, I imagine it was Apollinaire on leave, gave a concert and a 
reading of Blaise Cedrars' poems. It was then that I first heard mentioned 
and first heard the music of Erik Satie. I remember this took place in 
some one's atelier and the place was crowded. It was in these days too that 
the friendship betwefen Gertrude Stein and Juan Gris began. He was 
living in the rue Ravignan in the studio where Salmon had been shut 
up when he ate my yellow fantaisie. 

We used to go there quite often. Juan was having a hard time, no one 
was buying pictures and the french artists were not in want because they 
were at the front and their wives or their mistresses if they had been 
together a certain number of years were receiving an allowance. There 
was one bad case, Herbin, a nice little man but so tiny that the army dis- 
missed him. He said ruefully the pack he had to carry weighed as much 
as he did and it was no use, he could not manage it. He was returned 
home inapt for service and he came near starving. I don't know who 
told us about him, he was one of the early simple earnest cubists. Luckily 
Gertrude Stein succeeded in interesting Roger Fry. Roger Fry took him 
and his painting over to England where he made and I imagine still has 
a considerable reputation. 

Juan Gris' case was more difficult. Juan was in those days a tormented 
and not particularly sympathetic character. He was very melancholy and 
effusive and as always clear sighted and intellectual. He was at that time 
painting almost entirely in black and white and his pictures were very 
sombre. Kahnweiler who had befriended him was an exile in Switzer- 
land, Juan's sister in Spain was able to help him only a little. His situa- 
tion was desperate. 

It was just at this time that the picture dealer who afterwards, as the 
expert in the Kahnweiler sale said he was going to kill cubism, under- 
took to save cubism and he made contracts with all the cubists who were 
still free to paint. Among them was Juan Gris and for the moment he 
was saved. 

As soon as we were back in Paris we went to see Mildred Aldrich. She 
was within the military area so we imagined we would have to have a 
special permit to go and see her. We went to the police station of our 
quarter and asked them what we should do. He said what papers have 
you. We have american passports,, french matriculation papers, said Ger- 
trude Stein taking out a pocket full. He looked at them all and said and 

THE WAR 133 

what is this, of another yellow paper. That, said Gertrude Stein, is a re- 
ceipt from my bank for the money I have just deposited. I think, said he 
solemnly, I would take that along too. I think, he added, with all those 
you will not have any trouble. 

We did not as a matter of fact have to show any one any papers. We 
stayed with Mildred several days. 

She was much the most cheerful person we knew that winter. She had 
been through the battle of the Marne, she had had the Uhlans in the 
woods below her, she had watched the battle going on below her and 
she had become part of the country-side. We teased her and told her she 
was beginning to look like a french peasant and she did, in a funny kind 
of way, born and bred new englander that she was. It was always aston- 
ishing that the inside of her little french peasant house with french fur- 
niture, french paint and a french servant and even a french poodle, 
looked completely american. We saw her several times that winter. 

At last the spring came and we were ready to go away for a bit. Our 
friend William Cook after nursing a while in the american hospital for 
french wounded had gone again to Palma de Mallorca. Cook who had 
always earned his living by painting was finding it difficult to get on and 
he had retired to Palma where in those days when the Spanish exchange 
was very low one lived extremely well for a few francs a day. 

We decided we w6uld go to Palma too and forget the war a little. We 
had only the temporary passports that had been given to us in London 
so we went to the embassy to get permanent ones with which we might 
go to Spain. We were first interviewed by a kindly old gentleman most 
evidently not in the diplomatic service. Impossible, he said, why, said 
he, look at me, I have lived in Paris for forty years and come of a long 
line of americans and I have no passport. No, he said, you can have a 
passport to go to America or you can stay in France without a passport. 
Gertrude Stein insisted upon seeing one of the secretaries of the embassy. 
We saw a flushed reddish-headed one. He told us exactly the same thing. 
Gertrude Stein listened quietly. She then said, but so and so who is 
exactly in my position, a native born american, has lived the same length 
of time in Europe, is a writer and has no intention of returning to Amer- 
ica at present, has just received a regular passport from your department. 
I think, said the young man still more flushed, there must be some error. 
It is very simple, replied Gertrude Stein, to verify it by looking the mat- 
ter up in your records. He disappeared and presently came back and said, 


yes you are quite correct but you see it was a very special case. There can 
be, said Gertrude Stein severely, no privilege extended to one american 
citizen which is not to be, given similar circumstances, accorded to any 
,other american citizen. He once more disappeared and came back and 
said, yes yes now may I go through the preliminaries. He then explained 
that they had orders to give out as few passports as possible but if any 
one really wanted one why of course it was quite alright. We got ours 
in record time. 

And we went to Palma thinking to spend only a few weeks but we 
stayed the winter. First we went to Barcelona. It was extraordinary to 
see so many men on the streets. I did not imagine there could be so many 
men left in the world. One's eyes had become so habituated to menless 
streets, the few men one saw being in uniform and therefore not being 
men but soldiers, that to see quantities of men walking up and down the 
Ramblas was bewildering. We sat in the hotel window and looked. I 
went to bed early and got up early and Gertrude Stein went to bed late 
and got up late and so in a way we overlapped but there was not a mo- 
ment whan there were not quantities of men going up and down the 

We arrived in Palma once again and Cook met us and arranged every- 
thing for us. William Cook could always be depended upon. In those 
days he was poor but later when he had inherited money and was well 
to do and Mildred Aldrich had fallen upon very bad ways and Gertrude 
Stein was not able to help any more, William Cook gave her a blank 
cheque and said, use that as much as you need for Mildred, you know 
my mother loved to read her books. 

William Cook often disappeared and one knew nothing of him and 
then when for one reason or another you needed him there he was. He 
went into the american army later and at that time Gertrude Stein and 
myself were doing war work for the American Fund for French 
Wounded and I had often to wake her up very early. She and Cook 
used to write the most lugubrious letters to each other about the un- 
pleasantness of sunrises met suddenly. Sunrises were, they contended, 
alright when approached slowly from the night before, but when faced 
abruptly from the same morning they were awful. It was William Cook 
too who later on taught Gertrude Stein how to drive a car by teaching 
her on one of the old battle of the Marne taxis. Cook being hard up had 
become a taxi driver in Paris, that was in sixteen and Gertrude Stein 

THE WAR 135 

was to drive a car for the American Fund for French Wounded. So on 
dark nights they went out beyond the fortifications and the two of them 
sitting solemnly on the driving seat of one of those old two-cylinder 
before-the-war Renault taxis, William Cook taught Gertrude Stein how 
to drive. It was William Cook who inspired the only movie Gertrude 
Stein ever wrote in english, 1 have just published it in Operas and Plays 
in the Plain Edition. The only other one she ever wrote, also in Operas 
and Plays, many years later and in french, was inspired by her white 
poodle dog called Basket. 

But to come back to Palma de Mallorca. We had been there two sum- 
mers before and had liked it and we liked it again. A great many ameri- 
cans seem to like it now but in those days Cook and ourselves were the 
only americans to inhabit the island. There were a few english, about 
three families there. There was a descendant of one of Nelson's captains, 
a Mrs. Penfold, a sharp-tongued elderly lady and her husband. It was 
she who said to young Mark Gilbert, an english boy of sixteen with 
pacifist tendencies who had at tea at her house refused cake, Mark you 
are either old enough to fight for your country or young enough to eat 
cake. Mark ate cake. 

There were several french families there, the french consul, Monsieur 
Marchand with a charming italian wife whom we soon came to know 
very well. It was he who was very much amused at a story we had to 
tell him of Morocco. He had been attached to the french residence at 
Tangiers at the moment the french induced Moulai Hafid the then 
sultan of Morocco to abdicate. We had been in Tangiers at that time for 
ten days, it was during that fiist trip to Spain when so much happened 
that was important to Gertrude Stein, 

We had taken on a guide Mohammed and Mohammed had taken a 
fancy to us. He became a pleasant companion rather than a guide and 
we used to take long walks together and he used to take us to see his 
cousins' wonderfully clean arab middle class homes and drink tea. We 
enjoyed it all. He also told us all about politics. He had been educated 
in Moulai Hafid's palace and he knew everything that was happening. 
He told us just how much money Moulai Hafid would take to abdicate 
and just when he would be ready to do it. We liked these stories as we 
liked all Mohammed's stories always ending up with, and when you 
come back there will be street cars and then we won't have to walk and 
that will be nice. Later in Spain we read in the papers that it had all 


happened exactly as Mohammed had said it would and we paid no fur- 
ther attention. Once in talking of our only visit to Morocco we told 
Monsieur Marchand this story. He said, yes that is diplomacy, probably 
the only people in the world who were not arabs who knew what the 
french government wanted so desperately to know were you two and 
you knew it quite by accident and to you it was of no importance. 

Life in Palma was pleasant and so instead of travelling any more that 
summer we decided to settle down in Palma. We sent for our french 
servant Jeanne Poule and with the aid of the postman we found a little 
house on the calle de Dos de Mayo in Terreno, just outside of Palma, 
and we settled down. We were very content. Instead of spending only 
the summer we stayed until the following spring.^ 

We had been for some time members of Mudie's Library in London 
and wherever we went Mudie's Library books came to us. It was at this 
time that Gertrude Stein read aloud to me all of Queen Victoria's letters 
and she herself became interested in missionary autobiographies and 
diaries. There were a great many in Mudie's Library and she read them 

It was during this stay at Palma de Mallorca that most of the plays 
afterwards published in Geography and Plays were written. She always 
says that a certain kind of landscape induces plays and the country 
around Terreno certainly did. 

We had a dog, a mallorcan hound, the hounds slightly crazy, who 
dance in the moonlight, striped, not all one colour as the Spanish hound 
of the continent. We called this dog Polybe because we were pleased 
with the articles in the Figaro signed Polybe. Polybe was, as Monsieur 
Marchand said, like an arab, bon accueil a tout le monde et fidele a 
personne. He had an incurable passion for eating filth and nothing 
would stop him. We muzzled him to see if that would cure him, but this 
so outraged the russian servant of the english consul that we had to give 
it up. Then he took to annoying sheep. We even took to quarrelling with 
Cook about Polybe. Cook had a fox terrier called Marie-Rose and we 
were convinced fhat Marie-Rose led Polybe into mischief and then vir- 
tuously withdrew and let him take the blame. Cook was convinced that 
we did not know how to bring up Polybe. Polybe had one nice trait. 
He would sit in a chair and gently smell large bunches of tube-roses with 
which I always filled a vase in the centre of the room on the floor. He 
never tried to eat them, he just gently smelled them. When we left we 

THE WAR 137 

left Polybe behind us in the care of one of the guardians of the old 
fortress of Belver. When we saw him a week after he did not know us 
or his name. Polybe comes into many of the plays Gertrude Stein wrote 
at that time. 

The feelings of the island at that time were very mixed as to the war. 
The thing that impressed them the most was the amount of money it 
cost. They could discuss by the hour, how much it cost a year, a month, 
a week, a day, an hour and even a minute. We used to hear them of 
a summer evening, five million pesetas, a million pesetas, two million 
pesetas, good-night, good-night, and know they were busy with their 
endless calculations of the cost of the war. As most of the men even those 
of the better middle classes read wrote and ciphered with difficulty and 
the women not at all, it can be imagined how fascinating and endless a 
subject the cost of the war was. 

One of our neighbours had a german governess and whenever there 
was a german victory she hung out a german flag. We responded as well 
as we could, but alas just then there were not many allied victories. The 
lower classes were strong for the allies. The waiter at the hotel was al- 
ways looking forward to Spain's entry into the war on the side of the 
allies. He was certain that the Spanish army would be of great aid as it 
could march longer on less food than any army in the world. The maid 
at the hotel took great interest in my knitting for the soldiers. She said, 
of course madame knits very slowly, all ladies do. But, said I hopefully, 
if I knit for years may I not come to knit quickly, not as quickly as you 
but quickly. No, said she firmly, ladies knit slowly. As a matter of fact 
I did come to knit very quickly and could even read and knit quickly 
at the same time. 

We led a pleasant life, we walked a great deal and ate extremely well, 
and were well amused by our Breton servant. 

She was patriotic and always wore the tricolour ribbon around her hat. 
She once came home very excited. She had just been seeing another 
french servant and she said, imagine, Marie has just had news that her 
brother was drowned and has had a civilian funeral. How did that hap- 
pen, I asked also much excited. Why, said Jeanne, he had not yet been 
called to the army. It was a great honour to have a brother have a civil- 
ian funeral during the war. At any rate it was rare. Jeanne was content 
with Spanish newspapers, she had no trouble reading them, as she said, 
all the important words were in french. 


Jeanne told -endless stories of french village life and Gertrude Stein 
could listen a long time and then all of a sudden she could not listen 
any more. 

Life in Mallorca was pleasant until the attack on Verdun began. Then 
we all began to be very miserable. We tried to console each other but it 
was difficult. One of the frenchmen, an engraver who had palsy and in 
spite of the palsy tried every few months to get the french consul to 
accept him for the army, used to say we must not worry if Verdun is 
taken, it is not an entry into France, it is only a moral victory for the 
germans. But we were all desperately unhappy. I had been so confident 
and now 1 had an awful feeling that the war had gotten out of my hands. 

In the port of Palma was a german ship called the Fangturm which 
sold pins and needles to all the Mediterranean ports before the war and 
further, presumably, because it was a very big steamer. It had been 
caught in Palma when the war broke out and had never been able to 
leave. Most of the officers and sailors had gotten away to Barcelona but 
the big ship remained in the harbour. It looked very rusty and neglected 
and it was just under our windows. All of a sudden as the attack on Ver- 
dun commenced, they began painting the Fangturm. Imagine our feel- 
ings. We were all pretty unhappy and this was despair. We told the 
french consul and he told us and it was awful. 

Day by day the news was worse and one whole side of the Fangturm 
was painted and then they stopped painting. They knew it before we 
did. Verdun was not going to be taken. Verdun was safe. The germans 
had given up hoping to take it. 

When it was all over we none of us wanted to stay in Mallorca any 
longer, we all wanted to go home. It was at this time that Cook and 
Gertrude Stein spent all their time talking about automobiles. They 
neither of them had ever driven but they were getting very interested. 
Cook also began to wonder how he was going to earn his living when 
he got to Paris. His tiny income did for Mallorca but it would not keep 
him long in Paris. He thought of driving horses for Felix Potin's deliv- 
ery wagons, he said after all he liked horses better than automobiles. 
Anyway he went back to Paris and when we got there, we went a 
longer way, by way of Madrid, he was driving a Paris taxi. Later on he 
became a trier-out of cars for the Renault works and I can remember 
how exciting it was when he described how the wind blew out his 

THE WAR 139 

cheeks when he made eighty kilometres an hour. Then later he joined 
the american army. 

We went home by way of Madrid. There we had a curious experience. 
We went to the american consul to have our passports visaed. He was a 
great big flabby man and he had a filipino as an assistant. He looked at 
our passports, he measured them, weighed them, looked at them upside 
down and finally said that he supposed they were alright but how could 
he tell. He then asked the filipino what he thought. The filipino seemed 
inclined to agree that the consul could not tell. I tell you what you do, 
he said ingratiatingly, you go to the french consul since you are going 
to France and you live in Paris and if the french consul says they are 
alright, why the consul will sign. The consul sagely nodded. 

We were furious. It was an awkward position that a french consul, 
not an american one should decide whether american passports were 
alright. However there was nothing else to do so we went to the french 

When our turn came the man in charge took our passports and looked 
them over and said to Gertrude Stein, when were you last in Spain. She 
stopped to think, she never can remember anything when anybody asks 
her suddenly, and she said she did not remember but she thought it was 
such and such a date. He said no, and mentioned another year. She said 
very likely he was right. Then he went on to give all the dates of her 
various visits to Spain and finally he added a visit when she was still at 
college when she was in Spain with her brother just after the Spanish 
war. It was all in a way rather frightening to me standing by but Ger- 
trude Stein and the assistant consul seemed to be thoroughly interested 
in fixing dates. Finally he said, you see I was for many years in the letter 
of credit department of the Credit Lyonnais in Madrid and I have a 
very good memory and I remember, of course I remember you very 
well. We were all very pleased. He signed the passports and told us to 
go back and tell our consul to do so also. 

At the time we were furious with our consul but now I wonder if it 
was not an arrangement between the two offices that the american con- 
sul should not sign any passport to enter France until the french consul 
had decided whether its owner was or was not desirable. 

We came back to an entirely different Paris. It was no longer gloomy. 
It was no longer empty. This time we did not settle down, we decided 


to get into the war. One day we were walking down the rue des Pyra- 
mides and there was a ford car being backed up the street by an amer- 
ican girl and on the car it said, American Fund for French Wounded. 
There, said I, that is what we are going to do. At least, said I to Ger- 
trude Stein, you will drive the car and I will do the rest. We went over 
and talked to the american girl and then interviewed Mrs. Lathrop, the 
head of the organisation. She was enthusiastic, she was always enthu- 
siastic and she said, get a car. But where, we asked. From America, she 
said. But how, we said. Ask somebody, she said, and Gertrude Stein did, 
she asked her cousin and in a few months the ford car came. In the 
meanwhile Cook had taught her to drive his taxi. 

As I said it was a changed Paris. Everything was changed, and every- 
body was cheerful. 

During our absence Eve had died and Picasso was now living in a 
little home in Montrouge. We went out to see him. He had a marvel- 
lous rose pink silk counterpane on his bed. Where did that come from 
Pablo, asked Gertrude Stein. Ah a, said Picasso with much satisfaction, 
that is a lady. It was a well known chilean society woman who had given 
it to him. It was a marvel. He was very cheerful. He was constantly 
coming to the house, bringing Paquerette a girl who was very nice or 
Irene a very lovely woman who came from the mountains and wanted 
to be free. He brought Erik Satie and the Princesse de Polignac and 
Blaise Cendrars. 

It was a great pleasure to know Erik Satie. He was from Normandy 
and very fond of it. Marie Laurencin comes from Normandy, so also 
does Braque. Once when after the war Satie and Marie Laurencin were 
at the house for lunch they were delightfully enthusiastic about, each 
other as being normans. Erik Satie liked food and wine and knew a 
lot about both. We had at that time some very good eau de vie that the 
husband of Mildred Aldrich's servant had given us and Erik Satie, drink- 
ing his glass slowly and with appreciation, told stories of the country in 
his youth. 

Only once in the half dozen times that Erik Satie was at the house 
did he talk about music. He said that it had always been his opinion 
and he was glad that it was being recognised that modern french music 
owned nothing to modern Germany. That after Debussy had led the 
way french musicians had either followed him or found their own 
french way. 

THE WAR 141 

He told charming stories, usually of Normandy, he had a playful wit 
which was sometimes very biting. He was a charming dinner-guest. It 
was many years later that Virgil Thomson, when we first knew him in 
his tiny room near the Gare Saint-Lazare, played for us the whole of 
Socrate. It was then that Gertrude Stein really became a Satie enthu- 

Ellen La Motte and Emily Chadbourne, who had not gone to Serbia, 
were still in Paris. Ellen La Motte, who was an ex Johns Hopkins nurse, 
wanted to nurse near the front. She was still gun shy but she did want* 
to nurse at the front, and they met Mary Borden-Turner who was run- 
ning a hospital at the front and Ellen La Motte did for a few months 
nurse at the front. After that she and Emily Chadbourne went to China 
and after that became leaders of the anti-opium campaign. 

Mary Borden-Turner had been and was going to be a writer. She was 
very enthusiastic about the work of Gertrude Stein and travelled with 
what she had of it and volumes of Flaubert to and from the front. She 
had taken a house near the Bois and it was heated and during that win- 
ter when the rest of us had no coal it was very pleasant going to dinner 
there and being warm. We liked Turner. He was a captain in the British 
army and was doing contre-espionage work very successfully. Although 
married to Mary Borden he did not believe in millionaires. He insisted 
upon giving his own Christmas party to the women and children in the 
village in which he was billeted and he always said that after the war 
he would be collector of customs for the British in Diisseldorf or go out 
to Canada and live simply. After all, he used to say to his wife, you 
are not a millionaire, not a real one. He had british standards of mil- 
lionairedom. Mary Borden was very Chicago. Gertrude Stein always 
says that chicagoans spent so much energy losing Chicago that often it is 
difficult to know what they are. They have to lose the Chicago voice 
and to do so they do many things. Somq lower their voices, some 
raise them, some get an english accent, some even get a german ac- 
cent, some drawl, some speak in a very high tense voice, and some go 
Chinese or Spanish and do not move the lips. Mary Borden was very 
Chicago and Gertrude Stein was immensely interested in her and in 

All this time we were waiting for our ford truck which was on its 
way and then we waited for its body to be built. We waited a great deal. 
It was then that Gertrude Stein wrote a great many little war poems, 


some of them have since beejri published in the volume Useful Knowl- 
edge which has in it only things about America. 

Stirred by the publication of Tender Buttons many newspapers had 
taken up the amusement of imitating Gertrude Stein's work and mak- 
ing fun of it. Life began a series that were called after Gertrude Stein. 

Gertrude Stein suddenly one day wrote a letter to Masson who was 
then editor of Life and said to him that the real Gertrude Stein was as 
Henry McBride had pointed out funnier in every way than the imita- 
tions, not to say much more interesting, and why did they not print the 
original. To her astonishment she received a very nice letter from Mr. 
Masson saying that he would be glad to do so. And they did. They 
printed two things that she sent them, one about, Wilson and one longer 
thing about war work in France. Mr. Masson had more courage than 

This winter Paris was bitterly cold and there was no coal. We finally 
had none at all. We closed up the big room and stayed in a little room 
but at last we had no more coal. The government was giving coal away 
to the needy but we did not feel justified in sending our servant to stand 
in line to get it. One afternoon it was bitterly cold, we went out and on 
a street corner was a policeman and standing with him was a sergeant 
of police. Gertrude Stein went up to them. Look here, she said to them, 
what are we to do. I live in a pavilion on the rue de Fleurus and have 
lived there many years. Oh yes, said they nodding their heads, certainly 
madame we know you very well. Well, she said, I have no coal not 
even enough to heat one small room. I do not want to send my servant 
to get it for nothing, that does not seem right. Now, she said, it is up 
to you to tell me what to do. The policeman looked at his sergeant and 
the sergeant nodded. Alright, they said. 

We went home. That evening the policeman in civilian clothes turned 
up with two sacks of coal. We accepted thankfully and asked no ques- 
tions. The policeman, a stalwart breton became our all in all. He did 
everything for us, he cleaned our home, he cleaned our chimneys, he 
got us in and he got us out and on dark nights when Zeppelins came 
it was comfortable to know that he was somewhere outside. 

There were Zeppelin alarms from time to time, but like everything 
else we had gotten used to them. When they came at dinner time we 
went on eating and when they came at night Gertrude Stein did not 
wake me, she said I might as well stay where I was if I was asleep because 

THE WAR 143 

when asleep it took more than even the siren that they used then to give 
the signal, to wake me. 

Our little ford was almost ready. She was later to be called Auntie 
after Gertrude Stein's aunt Pauline who always behaved admirably in 
emergencies and behaved fairly well most times if she was properly 

One day Picasso came in and with him and leaning on his shoulder 
was a slim elegant youth. It is Jean, announced Pablo, Jean Cocteau and 
we are leaving for Italy. 

Picasso had been excited at the prospect of doing the scenery for a 
russian ballet, the music to be by Satie, the drama by Jean Cocteau. 
Everybody was at the war, life in Montparnasse was not very gay, Mont- 
rouge with even a faithful servant was not very lively, he loo needed a 
change. He was very lively at the prospect of going to Rome. We all 
said goodbye and we all went our various ways. 

The little ford car was ready. Gertrude Stein had learned to drive a 
french car and they all said it was the same. I have never driven any car, 
but it would appear that it is not the same. We went outside of Paris to 
get it when it was ready and Gertrude Stein drove it in. Of course the 
first thing she did was to stop dead on the track between two street cars. 
Everybody got out and pushed us off the track. The next day when we 
started off to see what would happen we managed to get as far as the 
Champs Elysccs and once more stopped dead. A crowd shoved us to the 
side walk and then tried to find out what was the matter. Gertrude Stein 
cranked, the whole crowd cranked, nothing happened. Finally an old 
chauffeur said, no gasoline. We said proudly, oh yes at least a gallon, but 
he insisted on looking and of course there was none. Then the crowd 
stopped a whole procession of military trucks that were going up the 
Champs Elysees. They all stopped and a couple of them brought over 
an immense tank of gasoline and tried to pour it into the little ford. 
Naturally the process was not successful. Finally getting into a taxi I 
went to a store in our quarter where they sold brooms and gasoline and 
where they knew me and I came back with a tin of gasoline and we 
finally arrived at the Alcazar d'Ete, the then headquarters of the Amer- 
ican Fund for French Wounded. 

Mrs. Lathrop was waiting for one of the cars to take her to Mont- 
martre. I immediately offered the service of our car and went out and 
told Gertrude Stein. She quoted Edwin Dodge to me. Once Mabel 


Dodge's little boy said he would like to fly from the terrace to the lower 
garden. Do, said Mabel. It is easy, said Edwin Dodge, to be a spartan 

However Mrs. Lathrop came and the car went off. I must confess to 
being terribly nervous until they came back but come back they did. 

We had a consultation with Mrs. Lathrop and she sent us off to Per- 
pignan, a region with a good many hospitals that no american organisa- 
tion had ever visited. We started. We had never been further from Paris 
than Fontainbleau in the car and it was terribly exciting. 

We had a few adventures, we were caught in the snow and I was sure 
that we were on the wrong road and wanted to turn back. Wrong or 
right, said Gertrude Stein, we are going on. She could not back the car 
very successfully and indeed I may say even to this day when she can 
drive any kind of a car anywhere she still does not back a car very well. 
She goes forward admirably, she does not go backwards successfully. 
The only violent discussions that we have had in connection with her 
driving a car have been on the subject of backing. 

On this trip South we picked up our first military god-son. We began 
the habit then which we kept up all though the war of giving any sol- 
dier on the road a lift. We drove by day and we drove by night and in 
very lonely parts of France and we always stopped and gave a lift to any 
soldier, and never had we any but the most pleasant experiences with 
these soldiers. And some of them were as we sometimes found out pretty 
hard characters. Gertrude Stein once said to a soldier who was doing 
something for her, they were always doing something for her, whenever 
there was a soldier or a chauffeur or any kind of a man anywhere, she 
never did anything for herself, neither changing a tyre, cranking the car 
or repairing it. Gertrude Stein said to this soldier, but you are tellement 
gentil, very nice and kind. Madame, said he quite simply, all soldiers 
are nice and kind. 

This faculty of Gertrude Stein of having everybody do anything for 
her puzzled the other drivers of the organisation. Mrs. Lathrop who used 
to drive her own car said that nobody did those things for her. It was 
not only soldiers, a chauffeur would get off the sea*t of a private car in the 
place Vendome and crank Gertrude Stein's old ford for her. Gertrude 
Stein said that the others looked so efficient, of course nobody would 
think of doing anything for them. Now as for herself she was not effi- 
cient, she was good humoured, she was democratic, one person was as 

THE WAR 145 

good as another, and she knew what she wanted done. If you are like 
that she says, anybody will do anything for you. The important thing, she 
insists, is that you must have deep down as the deepest thing in you a 
sense of equality. Then anybody will do anything for you. 

It was not far from Saulieu that we picked up our first military god- 
son. He was a butcher in a tiny village not far from Saulieu. Our taking 
him up was a good example of the democracy of the french army. There 
were three of them walking along the road. We stopped and said we 
could take one of them on the step. They were all three going home on 
leave and walking into the country to their homes from the nearest big 
town. One was a lieutenant, one was a sergeant and one a soldier. They 
thanked us and then the lieutenant said to each one of them, how far 
have you to go. They each one named the distance and then they said, 
and you my lieutenant, how far have you to go. He told them. Then 
they all agreed that it was the soldier who had much the longest way to 
go and so it was his right to have the lift. He touched his cap to his 
sergeant and officer and got in. 

As I say he was our first military god-son. We had a great many after- 
wards and it was quite an undertaking to keep them all going. The duty 
of a military god-mother was to write a letter as often as she received 
one and to send a package of comforts or dainties about once in ten 
days. They liked the packages but they really liked letters even more. 
And they answered so promptly. It seemed to me, no sooner was my 
letter written than there was an answer. And then one had to remember 
all their family histories and once I did a dreadful thing, I mixed my 
letters and so I asked a soldier whose wife I knew all about and whose 
mother was dead to remember me to his mother, and the one who had 
the mother to remember me to his wife. Their return letters were quite 
mournful. They each explained that I had made a mistake and I could 
see that they had been deeply wounded by my error. 

The most delightful god-son we ever had was one we took on in 
Nimes. One day when we were in the town I dropped my purse. I did 
not notice the loss until we returned to the hotel and then I was rather 
bothered as there had been a good deal of money in it. While we were 
eating our dinner the waiter said some one wanted to see us. We went 
out and there was a man holding the purse in his hand. He said he had 
picked it up in the street and as soon as his work was over had come to 
the hotel to give it to us. There was a card of mine in the purse and he 


took it for granted that a stranger would be at the hotel, beside by that 
time we were very well known in Nimes. I naturally offered him a con- 
siderable reward from the contents of the purse but he said no. He said 
however that he had a favour to ask. They were refugees from the Marne 
and his son Abel now seventeen years old had just volunteered and was 
at present in the garrison at Nimes, would I be his god-mother. I said 
I would, and I asked him to tell his son to come to see me his first free 
evening. The next evening the youngest, the sweetest, the smallest sol- 
dier imaginable came in. It was Abel. 

We became very attached to Abel. I always remember his first letter 
from the front. He began by saying that he was really not very much 
surprised by anything at the front, it was exactly as it had been described 
to him and as he had imagined it, except that there being no tables one 
was compelled to write upon one's knees. 

The next time we saw Abel he was wearing the red fourragere, his 
regiment as a whole had been decorated with the legion of honour and 
we were very proud of our filleul. Still later when we went into Alsace 
with the french army, after the armistice, we had Abel come and stay 
with us a few days and a proud boy he was when he climbed to the top 
of the Strasbourg cathedral. 

When we finally returned to Paris, Abel came and stayed with us a 
week. We took him to see everything and he said solemnly at the end 
of his first day, I think all that was worth fighting for. Paris in the eve- 
ning however frightened him and we always had to get somebody to go 
out with him. The front had not been scareful but Paris at night was. 

Some time later he wrote and said that the family were moving into a 
different department and he gave me his new address. By some error 
the address did not reach him and we lost him. 

We did finally arrive at Perpignan and began visiting hospitals and 
giving away our stores and sending word to headquarters if we thought 
they needed more than we had. At first it was a little difficult but soon 
we were doing all we were to do very well. We were also given quan- 
tities of comfort-bags and distributing these was a perpetual delight, it 
was like a continuous Christmas. We always had permission from the 
head of the hospital to distribute these to the soldiers themselves which 
was in itself a great pleasure but also it enabled us to get the soldiers to 
immediately write postal cards of thanks and these we used to send off 

THE WAR 147 

in batches to Mrs. Lathrop who sent them to America to the people who 
had sent the comfort-bags. And so everybody was pleased. 

Then there was the question of gasoline. The American Fund for 
French Wounded had an order from the f rench government giving them 
the privilege of buying gasoline. But there was no gasoline to buy. The 
french army had plenty of it and were ready to give it to us but they 
could not sell it and we were privileged to buy it but not to receive it 
for nothing. It was necessary to interview the officer in command of the 
commissary department. 

Gertrude Stein was perfectly ready to drive the car anywhere, to crank 
the car as often as there was nobody else to do it, to repair the car, I 
must say she was very good at it, even if she was not ready to take it all 
down and put it back again for practice as I wanted her to do in the 
beginning, she was even resigned to getting up in the morning, but she 
flatly refused to go inside of any office and interview any official. I was 
officially the delegate and she was officially the driver but I 'had to go 
and interview the major. 

He was a charming major. The affair was very long drawn out, he 
sent me here and he sent me there but finally the matter was straightened 
out. All this time of course he called me Mademoiselle Stein because 
Gertrude Stein's name was on all the papers that I presented to him, 
she being the driver. And so now, he said, Mademoiselle Stein, my wife 
is very anxious to make your acquaintance and she has asked me to ask 
you to dine with us. I was very confused. I hesitated. But I am not 
Mademoiselle Stein, I said. He almost jumped out of his chair. What, 
he shouted, not Mademoiselle Stein. Then who are you. It must be re- 
membered this was war time and Perpignan almost at the Spanish fron- 
tire. Well, said I, you see Mademoiselle Stein. Where is Mademoiselle 
Stein, he said. She is downstairs, I said feebly, in the automobile. Well 
what does all this mean, he said. Well, I said, you see Mademoiselle 
Stein is the driver and I am the delegate and Mademoiselle Stein has no 
patience 'she will not go into offices and wait and interview people and 
explain, so I do it for her while she sits in the automobile. But what, said 
he sternly, would you have done if I had asked you to sign something. 
I would have told you, I said, as I am telling you now. Indeed, he said, 
let us go downstairs and see this Mademoiselle Stein. 

We went downstairs and Gertrude Stein was sitting in the driver's seat 


of the little ford and he came up to her. They immediately became 
friends and he renewed his invitation and we went to dinner. We had a 
good time. Madame Dubois came from Bordeaux, the land of food and 
wine. And what food above all the soup. It still remains to me the stand- 
ard of comparison with all the other soups in the world. Sometimes some 
approach it, a very few have equalled it but none have surpassed it. 

Perpignan is not far from Rivesaltes and Rivesaltes is the birthplace 
of JofTre. It had a little hospital and we got it extra supplies in honour 
of Papa JorTre. We had also the little ford car showing the red cross and 
the A.F.F.W. sign and ourselves in it photographed in front of the house 
in the little street where JofTre was born and had this photograph printed 
and sent to Mrs. Lathrop. The postal cards were- sent to America and 
sold for the benefit of the fund. In the meantime the U.S. had come into 
the war and we had some one send us a lot of ribbon with the stars and 
stripes printed on it and we cut this up and gave it to all the soldiers 
and they and we were pleased. 

Which reminds me of a french peasant. Later in Nimes we had an 
american ambulance boy in the car with us and we were out in the 
country. The boy had gone off to visit a waterfall and I had gone off to 
see a hospital and Gertrude Stein stayed with the car. She told me when 
I came back that an old peasant had come up to her and asked her what 
uniform the young man was wearing. That, she had said proudly, is the 
uniform of the american army, your new ally. Oh, said the old peasant. 
And then contemplatively, I ask myself what will we accomplish to- 
gether, je me demande je me demande qu'est-ce que nous ferons en- 

Our work in Perpignan being over we started back to Paris. On the 
way everything happened to the car. Perhaps it had been too hot even 
for a ford car in Perpignan. Perpignan is below sea level near the Medi- 
terranean and it is hot. Gertrude Stein who had always wanted it hot 
and hotter has never been really enthusiastic about heat after this experi- 
ence. She said she had been just like a pancake, the heat above and the 
heat below and cranking a car beside. I do not know how often she used 
to swear and say, I am going to scrap it, that is all there is about it I am 
going to scrap it. I encouraged and remonstrated until the car started 

It was in connection with this that Mrs. Lathrop played a joke on 

THE WAR 149 

Gertrude Stein. After the war was over we were both decorated by the 
french government, we received the Reconnaissance Franchise. They 
always in giving you a decoration give you a citation telling why you 
have been given it. The account of our valour was exactly the same, ex- 
cept in my case they said that my devotion was sans relache, with no 
abatement, and in her case they did not put in the words san relache. 

On the way back to Paris we, as I say had everything happen to the 
car but Gertrude Stein with the aid of an old tramp on the road who 
pushed and shoved at the critical moments managed to get it to Nevers 
where we met the first piece of the american army. They were the 
quartermasters department and the marines, the first contingent to ar- 
rive in France. There we first heard what Gertrude Stein calls the sad 
song "of the marines, which tells how everybody else in the american 
army has at sometime mutinied, but the marines never. 

Immediately on entering Nevers, we saw Tarn McGrew, a californian 
and parisian whom we had known very slightly but he was in uniform 
and we called for help. He came. We told him our troubles. He said, 
alright get the car into the garage of the hotel and to-morrow some of 
the soldiers will put it to rights. We did so. 

That evening we spent at Mr. McGrew's request at the Y. M. C. A. 
and saw for the first time in many years americans just americans, the 
kind that would not naturally ever have come to Europe. It was quite a 
thrilling experience. Gertrude Stein of course talked to them all, wanted 
to know what state and what city they came from, what they did, how 
old they were and how they liked it. She talked to the french girls who 
were with the american boys and the french girls told her what they 
thought of the american boys and the american boys told her all they 
thought about the french girls. 

The next day she spent with California and Iowa in the garage, as she 
called the two soldiers who were detailed to fix up her car. She was 
pleased with them when every time there was a terrific noise anywhere, 
they said solemnly to eaoh other, that french chauffeur is just changing 
gears. Gertrude Stein, Iowa and California enjoyed themselves so thor- 
oughly that I am sorry to say the car did not last out very well after we 
left Nevers, but at any rate we did get to Paris. 

It was at this time that Gertrude Stein conceived the idea of writing a 
history of the United States consisting of chapters wherein Iowa differs 


from Kansas, and wherein Kansas differs from Nebraska etcetera. She 
did do a little of it which also was printed in the book, Useful Knowl- 

We did not stay in Paris very long. As soon as the car was made over 
we left for Nimes, we were to do the three departments the Card, the 
Bouches-du-Rhone and the Vaucluse. 

We arrived in Nimes and settled down to a very comfortable life there. 
We went to see the chief military doctor in the town, Doctor Fabre and 
through his great kindness and that of his wife we were soon very much 
at home in Nimes, but before we began our work there, Doctor Fabre 
asked a favour of us. There were no autombile ambulances left in Nimes. 
At the military hospital was a pharmacist, a captain in the army, who 
was very ill, certain to die, and wanted to die in his own home. His wife 
was with him and would sit with him and we were to have no respon- 
sibility for him except to drive him home. Of course we said we would 
and we did. 

It had been a long hard ride up into the mountains and it was dark 
long before we were back. We were still some distance from Nimes when 
suddenly on the road we saw a couple of figures. The old ford car's lights 
did not light up much of anything on the road, and nothing along the 
side of the road and we did not make out very well who it was. How- 
ever we stopped as we always did when anybody asked us to give them 
a lift. One man, he was evidently an officer said, my automobile has 
broken down and I must get back to Nimes. Alright we said, both of 
you climb into the back, you will find a mattress and things, make your- 
selves comfortable. We went on to Nimes. As we came into the city I 
called through the little window, where do you want to get down, where 
are you going, a voice replied. To the Hotel Luxembourg, I said. That 
will do alright, the voice replied. We arrived in front of the Hotel 
Luxembourg and stopped. Here there was plenty of light. We heard a 
scramble in the back and then a little man, very fierce with the cap and 
oak leaves of a full general and the legion of honour medal at his throat, 
appeared before us. He said, I wish to thank you but before I do so I 
must ask you who you are. We, I replied cheerfully are the delegates 
of the American Fund for French Wounded and we are for the present 
stationed at Nimes. And I, he retorted, am the general who commands 
here and as I see by your car that you have a french military number 
you should have reported to me immediately. Should we, I said, I did 

THE WAR 151 

not know, I am most awfully sorry. It is alright, he said aggressively, if 
you should ever want or need anything let me know. 

We did let him know very shortly because of course there was the 
eternal gasoline question and he was kindness itself and arranged every- 
thing for us. 

The little general and his wife came from the north of France and had 
lost their home and spoke of themselves as refugees. When later the big 
Bertha began to fire on Paris and one shell hit the Luxembourg gardens 
very near the rue de Fleurus, I must confess I began to cry and said I did 
not want to be a miserable refugee. We had been helping a good many 
of them. Gertrude Stein said, General Frotier's family are refugees and 
they are not miserable. More miserable than I want to be, I said bitterly. 

Soon the american army came to .Nimes. One day Madame Fabre met 
us and said that her cook had seen some american soldiers. She must 
have mistaken some english soldiers for them, we said. Not at all, she 
answered, she is very patriotic. At any rate the american soldiers came, 
a regiment of them of the S. O. S. the service of supply, how well I re- 
member how they used to say it with the emphasis on the of. 

We soon got to know them all well and some of them very well. There 
was Duncan, a southern boy with such a very marked southern accent 
that when he was well into a story I was lost. Gertrude Stein whose peo- 
ple all come from Baltimore had no difficulty and they used to shout with 
laughter together, and all I could understand was that they had killed 
him as if he was a chicken. The people in Nimes were as much troubled 
as I was. A great many of the ladies in Nimes spoke english very well. 
There had always been english governesses in Nimes, and they, the 
nimoises had always prided themselves on their knowledge of english 
but as they said not only could they not understand these americans but 
these americans could not understand them when they spoke english. I 
had to admit that it was more or less the same with me. 

The soldiers were all Kentucky, South Carolina etcetera and they were 
hard to understand. 

Duncan was a dear. He was supply-sergeant to the camp and when 
we began to find american soldiers here and there in french hospitals we 
always took Duncan along to give the american soldier pieces of his lost 
uniform and white bread. Poor Duncan was miserable because he was 
not at the front. He had enlisted as far back as the expedition to Mexico 
and here he was well in the rear and no hope of getting away because he 


was one of the few who understood the complicated system of army 
book-keeping and his officers would not recommend him for the front. 
I will go, he used to say bitterly, they can bust me if they like I will go. 
But as we told him there were plenty of A.W.O.L. absent without leave 
the south was full of them, we were always meeting them and they 
would say, say any military police around here. Duncan was not made 
for that life. Poor Duncan. Two days before the armistice, he came in to 
see us and he was drunk and bitter. He was usually a sober boy but to 
go back and face his family never having been to the front was too awful. 
He was with us in a little sitting-room and in the front room were some 
of his officers and it would not do for them to see him in that state and 
it was time for him to get back to the camp. He -had fallen half asleep 
with his head on the table. Duncan, said Gertrude Stein sharply, yes, 
he said. She said to him, listen Duncan. Miss Toklas is going to stand up, 
you stand up too and fix your eyes right on the back of her head, do you 
understand. Yes, he said. Well then she will start to walk and you follow 
her and don't you for a moment move your eyes from the back of her 
head until you are in my car. Yes, he said. And he did and Gertrude 
Stein drove him to the camp. 

Dear Duncan. It was he who was all excited by the news that the 
americans had taken forty villages at Saint-MihieL He was to go with 
us that afternoon to Avignon to deliver some cases. He was sitting very 
straight on the step and all of a sudden his eye was caught by some houses. 
What are they, he asked. Oh just a village, Gertrude Stein said. In a 
minute there were some more houses. And what are those houses, he 
asked. Oh just a village. He fell very silent and he looked at the land- 
scape as he had never looked at it before. Suddenly with a deep sigh, 
forty villages ain't so much, he said. 

We did enjoy the life with these doughboys. I would like to tell noth- 
ing but doughboy stories. They all got on amazingly well with the 
french. They worked together in the repair sheds of the railroad. The 
only thing that bothered the americans were the long hours. They 
worked too concentratedly to keep it up so long. Finally an arrangement 
was made that they should have their work to do in their hours and 
the french in theirs. There was a great deal of friendly rivalry. The 
american boys did not see the use of putting so much finish on work that 
was to be shot up so soon again, the french said they could not complete 
work without finish. But both lots thoroughly liked each other. 

THE WAR 153 

Gertrude Stein always said the war was so much better than just 
going to America. Here you were with America in a kind of way that 
if you only went to America you could not possibly be. Every now and 
then one of the american soldiers would get into the hospital at Nimes 
and as Doctor Fabre knew that Gertrude Stein had had a medical educa- 
tion he always wanted her present with the doughboy on these occa- 
sions. One of them fell off the train. He did not believe that the little 
french trains could go fast but they did, fast enough to kill him. 

This was a tremendous occasion. Gertrude Stein in company with 
the wife of the prcfet, the governmental head of the department and the 
wife of the general were the chief mourners. Duncan and two others 
blew on the bugle and everybody made speeches. The Protestant pastor 
asked Gertrude Stein about the dead man and his virtues and she asked 
the doughboys. It was difficult to find any virtue. Apparently he had 
been a fairly hard citizen. But can't you tell me something good about 
him, she said despairingly. Finally Taylor, one of his friends, looked up 
solemnly and said, I tell you he had a heart as big as a washtub. 

I often wonder, I have often wondered if any of all these doughboys 
who knew Gertrude Stein so well in those days ever connected her with 
the Gertrude Stein of the newspapers. 

We led a very busy life. There were all the americans, there were a 
great many in the small hospitals round about as well as in the regiment 
in Nimes and we had to find them all and be good to them, then there 
were all the french in the hospitals, we had them to visit as this was 
really our business, and then later came the Spanish grippe and Gertrude 
Stein and one of the military doctors from Nimes used to go to all the 
villages miles around to bring into Nimes the sick soldiers and officers 
who had fallen ill in their homes while on leave. 

It was during these long trips that she began writing a great deal again. 
The landscape, the strange life stimulated her. It was then that she began 
to love the valley of the Rhone, the landscape that of all landscapes means 
the most to her. We are still here in Bilignin in the valley of the Rhone. 

She wrote at that time the poem of The Deserter, printed almost im- 
mediately in Vanity Fair. Henry McBride had interested Crowninshield 
in her work. 

One day when we were in Avignon we met Braque. Braque had been 
badly wounded in the head and had come to Sorgues near Avignon to 
recover. It was there that he had been staying when the mobilisation 


orders came to him. It was awfully pleasant seeing the Braques again. 
Picasso had just written to Gertrude Stein announcing his marriage to a 
jeune fille, a real young lady, and he had sent Gertrude Stein a wedding 
present of a lovely little painting and a photograph of a painting of his 

That lovely little painting he copied for me many years later on 
tapestry canvas and I embroidered it and that was the beginning of my 
tapestrying. I did not think it possible to ask him to draw me something 
to work but when I told Gertrude Stein she said, alright, I'll manage. 
And so one day when he was at the house she said, Pablo, Alice wants to 
make a tapestry of that little picture and I said I would trace it for her. 
He looked at her with kindly contempt, if it is done by anybody, he said, 
it will be done by me. Well, said Gertrude Stein, producing a piece of 
tapestry canvas, go to it, and he did. And I have been making tapestry 
of his drawings ever since and they are very successful and go marvel- 
lously with old chairs. I have done two small Louis fifteenth chairs in 
this way. He is kind enough now to make me drawings on my working 
canvas and to colour them for me. 

Braque also told us that Apollinaire too had married a real young 
lady. We gossiped a great deal together. But after all there was little 
news to tell. 

Time went on, we were very busy and then came the armistice. We 
were the first to bring the news to many small villages. The french sol- 
diers in the hospitals were relieved rather than glad. They seemed not to 
feel that it was going to be such a lasting peace. I remember one of them 
saying to Gertrude Stein when she said to him, well here is peace, at 
least for twenty years, he said. 

The next morning we had a telegram from Mrs. Lathrop. Come at 
once want you to go with the french armies to Alsace. We did not stop 
on the way. We made it in a day. Very shortly after we left for Alsace. 

We left for Alsace and on the road had our first and only accident. 
The roads were frightful, mud, ruts, snow, slush, and covered with the 
french armies going into Alsace. As we passed, two horses dragging an 
army kitchen kicked out of line and hit our ford, the mud-guard came 
off and the tool-chest, and worst of all the triangle of the steering gear 
was badly bent. The army picked up our tools and our mud-guard but 
there was nothing to do about the bent triangle. We went on, the car 
wandering all over the muddy road, up hill and down hill, and Ger- 

THE WAR 155 

trude Stein sticking to the wheel. Finally after about forty kilometres, 
we saw on the road some american ambulance men. Where can we get 
our car fixed. Just a little farther, they said. We went a little farther 
and there found an american ambulance outfit. They had no extra mud- 
guard but they could give us a new triangle. I told our troubles to the 
sergeant, he grunted and said a word in an undertone to a mechanic. 
Then turning to us he said gruffly, run-her-in. Then the mechanic took 
off his tunic and threw it over the radiator. As Gertrude Stein said when 
any american did that the car was his. 

We had never realised before what mud-guards were for but by the 
time we arrived in Nancy we knew. The french military repair shop 
fitted us out with a new mud-guard and tool-chest and we went on our 

Soon we came to the battle-fields and the lines of trenches of both 
sides. To any one who did not see it as it was then it is impossible to 
imagine it. It was not terrifying it was strange. We were used to ruined 
houses and even ruined towns but this was different. It was a landscape. 
And it belonged to no country. 

I remember hearing a french nurse once say and the only thing she did 
say of the front was, c'est un paysage passionant, an absorbing landscape. 
And that was what it was as we saw it. It was strange. Camouflage, huts, 
everything was there. It was wet and dark and there were a few people, 
one did not know whether they were chinamen or europeans. Our fan- 
belt had stopped working. A staff car stopped and fixed it with a hairpin, 
we still wore hairpins. 

Another thing that interested us enormously was how different the 
camouflage of the french looked from the camouflage of the germans, 
and then once we came across some very very neat camouflage and it was 
american. The idea was the same but as after all it was different nation- 
alities who did it the difference was inevitable. The colour schemes were 
different, the designs were different, the way of placing them was differ- 
ent, it made plain the whole theory of art and its inevitability. 

Finally we came to Strasbourg and then went on to Mulhouse. Here 
we stayed until well into May. 

Our business in Alsace was not hospitals but refugees. The inhabitants 
were returning to their ruined homes all over the devastated country and 
it was the aim of the A.F.F.W. to give a pair of blankets, underclothing 
and children's and babies' woollen stockings and babies' booties to every 


family. There was a legend that the quantity of babies' booties sent to us 
came from the gifts sent to Mrs. Wilson who was supposed at that time 
to be about to produce a little Wilson. There were a great many babies' 
booties but not too many for Alsace. 

Our headquarters was the assembly-room of one of the big school- 
buildings in Mulhouse. The german school teachers had disappeared 
and french school teachers who happened to be in the army had been 
put in temporarily to teach. The head of our school was in despair, not 
about the docility of his pupils nor their desire to learn french, but on 
account of their clothes. French children are all always neatly clothed. 
There is no such thing as a ragged child, even orphans farmed out in 
country villages are neatly dressed, just as all french women are neat, 
even the poor and the aged. They may not always be clean but they are 
always neat. From this standpoint the parti-coloured rags of even the 
comparatively prosperous alsatian children were deplorable and the 
french schoolmasters suffered. We did our best to help him out with 
black children's aprons but these did not go far, beside we had to keep 
them for the refugees. 

We came to know Alsace and the alsatians very well, all kinds of them. 
They were astonished at the simplicity with which the french army and 
french soldiers took care of themselves. They had not been accustomed 
to that in the german army. On the other hand the french soldiers were 
rather mistrustful of the alsatians who were too anxious to be french 
and yet were not french. They are not frank, the french soldiers said. 
And it is quite true. The french whatever else they may be are frank. 
They are very polite, they are very adroit but sooner or later they always 
tell you the truth. The alsatians are not adroit, they are not polite and 
they do not inevitably tell you the truth. Perhaps with renewed contact 
with the french they will learn these things. 

We distributed. We went into all the devastated villages. We usually 
asked the priest to help us with the distribution. One priest who gave us 
a great deal of good advice and with whom we became very friendly had 
only one large room left in his house. Without any screens or partitions 
he had made himself three rooms, the first third had his parlour furni- 
ture, the second third his dining room furniture and the last third his 
bedroom furniture. When we lunched with him and we lunched well 
and his alsatian wines were very good, he received us in his parlour, he 
then excused himself and withdrew into his bedroom to wash his hands, 

THE WAR 157 

and then he invited us very formally to come into the dining room, it 
was like an old-fashioned stage setting. 

We distributed, we drove around in the snow we talked to everybody 
and everybody talked to us and by the end of May it was all over and 
we decided to leave. 

We went home by way of Metz, Verdun and Mildred Aldrich. 

We once more returned to a changed Paris. We were restless. Ger- 
trude Stein began to work very hard, it was at this time that she wrote 
her Accents in Alsace and other political plays, the last plays in Geog- 
raphy and Plays. We were still in the shadow of war work and we went 
on doing some of it, visiting hospitals and seeing the soldiers left in them, 
now pretty well neglected by everybody. We had spent a great deal of 
our money during the war and we were economising, servants were 
difficult to get if not impossible, prices were high. We settled down for 
the moment with a femme de menage for only a few hours a day. I 
used to say Gertrude Stein was the chauffeur and I was the cook. We 
used to go over early in the morning to the public markets and get in 
our provisions. It was a confused world. 

Jessie Whitehead had come over with the peace commission as secre- 
tary to one of the delegations and of course we were very interested in 
knowing all about the peace. It was then that Gertrude Stein described 
one of the young men of the peace commission who was holding forth, 
as one who knew all about the war, he had been here ever since the 
peace. Gertrude Stein's cousins came over, everybody came over, every- 
body was dissatisfied and every one was restless. It was a restless and 
disturbed world. 

Gertrude Stein and Picasso quarrelled. They neither of them ever quite 
knew about what. Anyway they did not see each other for a year and 
then they met by accident at a party at Adrienne Monnier's. Picasso said, 
how do you do to her and said something about her coming to see him. 
No I will not, she answered gloomily. Picasso came to me and said, Ger- 
trude says she won't come to see me, does she mean it. I am afraid if 
she says it she means it. They did not see each other for another year 
and in the meantime Picasso's little boy was born and Max Jacob was 
complaining that he had not been named god-father. A very little while 
after this we were somewhere at some picture gallery and Picasso came 
up and put his hand on Gertrude Stein's shoulder and said, oh hell, let's 
be friends. Sure, said Gertrude Stein and they embraced. When can I 


come to see you, said Picasso, let's see, said Gertrude Stein, I am afraid 
we are busy but come to dinner the end of the week. Nonsense, said 
Picasso, we are coming to dinner to-morrow, and they came. 

It was a changed Paris. Guillaume Apollinaire was dead. We saw a 
tremendous number of people but none of them as far as I can remem- 
ber that we had ever known before. Paris was crowded. As Clive Bell 
remarked, they say that an awful lot of people were killed in the war 
but it seems to me that an extraordinary large number of grown men 
and women have suddenly been born. 

As I say we were restless and we were economical and all day and all 
evening we were seeing people and at last there was the defile, the pro- 
cession under the Arc de Triomphe, of the allies. 

The members of the American Fund for French Wounded were to 
have seats on the benches that were put up the length of the Champs 
Elysees but quite rightly the people of Paris objected as these seats would 
make it impossible for them to see the parade and so Clemenceau 
promptly had them taken down. Luckily for us Jessie Whitehead's room 
in her hotel looked right over the Arc de Triomphe and she asked us to 
come to it to see the parade. We accepted gladly. It was a wonderful day. 

We got up at sunrise, as later it would have been impossible to cross 
Paris in a car. This was one of the last trips Auntie made. By this time 
the red cross was painted off it but it was still a truck. Very shortly after 
it went its honourable way and was succeeded by Godiva, a two-seated 
runabout, also a little ford. She was called Godiva because she had come 
naked into the world and each of our friends gave us something with 
which to bedeck her. 

Auntie then was making practically her last trip. We left her near the 
river and walked up to the hotel. Everybody was on the streets, men, 
women children, soldiers, priests, nuns, we saw two nuns being helped 
into a tree from which they would be able to see. And we ourselves were 
admirably placed and we saw perfectly. 

We saw it all, we saw first the few wounded from the Invalides in their 
wheeling chairs wheeling themselves. It is an old french custom that a 
military procession should always be preceded by the veterans from the 
Invalides. They all marched past through the Arc de Triomphe. Ger- 
trude Stein remembered that when as a child she used to swing on the 
chains that were around the Arc de Triomphe her governess had told 
her that no one must walk underneath since the german armies had 

THE WAR 159 

marched under it after 1870. And now everybody except the germans 
were passing through. 

All the nations marched differently, some slowly, some quickly, the 
french carry their flags the best of all, Pershing and his officer carrying 
the flag behind him were perhaps the most perfectly spaced. It was this 
scene that Gertrude Stein described in the movie she wrote about this 
time that I have published in Operas and Plays in the Plain Edition. 

However it all finally came to an end. We wandered up and we wan- 
dered down the Champs Elysees and the war was over and the piles o 
captured cannon that had made two pyramids were being taken away 
and peace was upon us. 

7 After the War-1919-1932 

We were, in these days as I look back at them, constantly seeing people. 

It is a confused memory those first years after the war and very diffi- 
cult to think back and remember what happened before or after some- 
thing else. Picasso once said, I have already told; when Gertrude Stein 
and he were discussing dates, you forget that when we were young an 
awful lot happened in a year. During the years just after the war as I 
look in order to refresh my memory over the bibliography of Gertrude 
Stein's work, I am astonished when I realise how many things happened 
in a year. Perhaps we were not so young then but there were a great 
many young in the world and perhaps that comes to the same thing. 

The old crowd had disappeared. Matisse was now permanently in 
Nice and in any case although Gertrude Stein and he were perfectly 
good friends when they met, they practically never met. This was the 
time when Gertrude Stein and Picasso were not seeing each other. They 
always talked with the tenderest friendship about each other to any one 
who had known them both but they did not see each other. Guillaume 
Apollinaire was dead. Braque and his wife we saw from time to time, 
he and Picasso by this time were fairly bitterly on the outs. I remember 
one evening Man Ray brought a photograph that he had made of Picasso 
to the house and Braque happened to be there. The photograph was 
being passed around and when it came to Braque he looked at it and 
said, I ought to know who that gentleman is, je dois connaitre ce mon- 
sieur. It was a period this and a very considerable time afterward that 
Gertrude Stein celebrated under the title, Of Having for a Long Time 
Not Continued to be Friends. 

Juan Gris was ill and discouraged. He had been very ill and was never 
really well again. Privation and discouragement had had their effect. 
Kahnweiler came back to Paris fairly early after the war but all his old 
crowd with the exception of Juan were too successful to have need of 
him. Mildred Aldrich had had her tremendous success with the Hilltop 


AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 161 

on the Marne, in Mildred's way she had spent royally all she had earned 
royally and was now still spending and enjoying it although getting a 
little uneasy. We used to go out and see her about once a month, in fact 
all the rest of her life we always managed to get out to see her regularly. 
Even in the days of her very greatest glory she loved a visit from Ger- 
trude Stein better than a visit from anybody else. In fact it was largely 
to please Mildred that Gertrude Stein tried to get the Atlantic Monthly 
to print something of hers. Mildred always felt and said that it would 
be a blue ribbon if the Atlantic Monthly consented, which of course it 
never did. Another thing used to annoy Mildred dreadfully. Gertrude 
Stein's name was never in Who's Who in America. As a matter of fact 
it was in english authors' bibliographies before it ever entered an ameri- 
can one. This troubled Mildred very much. I hate to look at Who's Who 
in America, she said to me, when I see all those insignificant people and 
Gertrude's name not in. And then she would say, I know it's alright 
but I wish Gertrude were not so outlawed. Poor Mildred. And now just 
this year for reasons best known to themselves Who's Who has added 
Gertrude Stein's name to their list. The Atlantic Monthly needless to say 
has not. 

The Atlantic Monthly story is rather funny. 

As I said Gertrude Stein sent the Atlantic Monthly some manuscripts, 
not with any hope of their accepting them, but if by any miracle they 
should, she would be pleased and Mildred delighted. An answer came 
back, a long and rather argumentative answer from the editorial office. 
Gertrude Stein thinking that some Boston woman in the editorial office 
had written, answered the arguments lengthily to Miss Ellen Sedgwick. 
She received an almost immediate answer meeting all her arguments 
and at the same time admitting that the matter was not without interest 
but that of course Atlantic Monthly readers could not be affronted by 
having these manuscripts presented in the review, but it might be pos- 
sible to have them introduced by somebody in the part of the magazine, 
if I remember rightly, called the Contributors' Club. The letter ended 
by saying that the writer was not Ellen but Ellery Sedgwick. 

Gertrude Stein of course was delighted with its being Ellery and not 
Ellen and accepted being printed in the Contributors' Club, but equally 
of course the manuscripts did not appear even in the part called Con- 
tributors' Club. 

We began to meet new people all the time. 


Some one told us, I have forgotten who, that an american woman had 
started a lending library of english books in our quarter. We had in those 
days of economy given up Mudie's, but there was the American Library 
which supplied us a little, but Gertrude Stein wanted more. We inves- 
tigated and we found Sylvia Beach. Sylvia Beach was very enthusiastic 
about Gertrude Stein and they became friends. She was Sylvia Beach's 
first annual subscriber and Sylvia Beach was proportionately proud and 
grateful. Her little place was in a little street near the Ecole de Medecine. 
It was not then much frequented by americans. There was the author 
of Beebie the Beebeist and there was the niece of Marcel Schwob and 
there were a few stray irish poets. We saw a good deal of Sylvia those 
days, she used to come to the house and also go out into the country with 
us in the old car. We met Adrienne Monnier and she brought Valery 
Larbaud to the house and they were all very interested in Three Lives 
and Valery Larbaud, so we understood, meditated translating it. It was 
at this time that Tristan Tzara first appeared in Paris. Adrienne Monnier 
was much excited by his advent. Picabia had found him in Switzerland 
during the war and they had together created dadaism, and out of 
dadaism, with a great deal of struggle and quarrelling came surrealisme. 

Tzara came to the house, I imagine Picabia brought him but I am 
not quite certain. I have always found it very difficult to understand the 
stories of his violence and his wickedness, at least I found it difficult 
then because Tzara when he came to the house sat beside me at 
the tea table and talked to me like a pleasant and not very exciting cousin. 

Adrienne Monnier wanted Sylvia to move to the rue de 1'Odeon and 
Sylvia hesitated but finally she did so and as a matter of fact we did 
not see her very often afterward. They gave a party just after Sylvia 
moved in and we went and there Gertrude Stein first discovered that 
she had a young Oxford following. There were several young Oxford 
men mere and they were awfully pleased to meet her and they asked 
her to give them some manuscripts and they published them that year 
nineten twenty, in the Oxford Magazine. 

Sylvia Beach from time to time brought groups of people to the house, 
groups of young writers and some older women with them. It was at 
that time that Ezra Pound came, no that was brought about in another 
way. She later ceased coming to the house but she sent word that Sher- 
wood Anderson had come to Paris and wanted to see Gertrude Stein 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 163 

and might he come. Gertrude Stein sent back word that she would be 
very pleased and he came with his wife and Rosenfeld, the musical critic. 

For some reason or other I was not present on this occasion, some 
domestic complication in all probability, at any rate when I did come 
home Gertrude Stein was moved and pleased as she has very rarely 
been. Gertrude Stein was in those days a little bitter, all her unpublished 
manuscripts, and no hope of publication or serious recognition. Sher- 
wood Anderson came and quite simply and directly as is his way told 
her what he thought of her work and what it had meant to him in his 
development. He told it to her then and what was even rarer he told it 
in print immediately after. Gertrude Stein and Sherwood Anderson have 
always been the best of friends but I do not believe even he realises how 
much his visit meant to her. It was he who thereupon wrote the intro- 
duction to Geography and Plays. 

In those days you met anybody anywhere. The Jewetts were an ameri- 
can couple who owned a tenth century chateau near Perpignan. We 
had met them there during the war and when they came to Paris we 
went to see them. There we met first Man Ray and later Robert Coates, 
how either of them happened to get there I do not know. 

There were a lot of people in the room when we came in and soon 
Gertrude Stein was talking to a little man who sat in the corner. As we 
went out she made an engagement with him. She said he was a photog- 
rapher and seemed interesting, and reminded me that Jeanne Cook, 
William Cook's wife, wanted her picture taken to send to Cook's people 
in America. We all three went to Man Ray's hotel. It was one of the 
little, tiny hotels in the rue Delambre and Man Ray had one of the small 
rooms, but I have never seen any space, not even a ship's cabin, with so 
many things in it and the things so admirably disposed. He had a bed, 
he had three large cameras, he had several kinds of lighting, he had a 
window screen, and in a little closet he did all his developing. He showed 
us pictures of Marcel Duchamp and a lot of other people and he asked 
if he might come and take photographs of the studio and of Gertrude 
Stein. He did and he also took some of me and we were very pleased 
with the result. He has at intervals taken pictures of Gertrude Stein and 
she is always fascinated with his way of using lights. She always comes 
home very pleased. One day she told him that she liked his photographs 
of her better than any that had ever been taken except one snap shot I 


had taken of her recently. This seemed to bother Man Ray. In a little 
while he asked her to come and pose and she did. He said, move all you 
like, your eyes, your head, it is to be a pose but it is to have in it all the 
qualities of a snap shot. The poses were very long, she, as he requested, 
moved, and the result, the last photographs he made of her, are extraor- 
dinarily interesting. 

Robert Coates we also met at the Jewetts' in those early days just after 
the war. I remember the day very well. It was a cold, dark day, on an 
upper floor of a hotel. There were a number of young men there and 
suddenly Gertrude Stein said she had forgotten to put the light on her 
car and she did not want another fine, we had just had one because I 
had blown the klaxon at a policeman trying to get him out of our way 
and she had received one by going the wrong way around a post. Alright, 
said a red-haired young man and immediately he was down and back. 
The light is on, he announced. How did you know which my car was, 
asked Gertrude Stein. Oh I knew, said Coates. We always liked Coates. 
It is extraordinary in wandering about Paris how very few people you 
know you meet, but we often met Coates hatless and read-headed in 
the most unexpected places. This was just about the time of Broom, 
about which I will tell very soon, and Gertrude Stein took a very deep 
interest in Coates' work as soon as he showed it to her. She said he was 
the one young man who had an individual rhythm, his words made a 
sound to the eyes, most people's words do not. We also liked Coates' 
address, the City Hotel, on the island, and we liked all his ways. 

Gertrude Stein was delighted with the scheme of study that he pre- 
pared for the Guggenheim prize. Unfortunately, the scheme of study, 
which was a most charming little novel, with Gertrude Stein as a backer, 
did not win a prize. 

As I have said there was Broom. 

Before the war we had known a young fellow, not known him much 
but a little; Elmer Harden, who was in Paris studying music. During 
the war we heard that Elmer Harden had joined the french army and 
had been badly wounded. It was rather an amazing story. Elmer Harden 
had been nursing french wounded in the american hospital and one of 
his patients, a captain with an arm fairly disabled, was going back to the 
front. Elmer Harden could not content himself any longer nursing. He 
said to Captain Peter, I am going with you. But it is impossible, said 
Captain Peter. But I am, said Elmer stubbornly. So they took a taxi and 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 165 

they went to the war office and to a dentist and I don't know where else, 
but by the end of the week Captain Peter had rejoined and Elmer 
Harden was in his regiment as a soldier. He fought well and was 
wounded. After the war we met him again and then we met often. He 
and the lovely flowers he used to send us were a great comfort in those 
days just after the peace. He and I always say that he and I will be the 
last people of our generation to remember the war. I am afraid we both 
of us have already forgotten it a little. Only the other day though Elmer 
announced that he had had a great triumph, he had made Captain Peter 
and Captain Peter is a breton admit that it was a nice war. Up to this 
time when he had said to Captain Peter, it was a nice war, Captain Peter 
had not answered, but this time when Elmer said, it was a nice war, Cap- 
tain Peter said, yes Elmer, it was a nice war. 

Kate Buss came from the same town as Elmer, from Medford, Mass. 
She was in Paris and she came to see us. I do not think Elmer intro- 
duced her but she did come to see us. She was much interested in the 
writings of Gertrude Stein and owned everything that up to that time 
could be bought. She brought Kreymborg to see us. Kreymborg had 
come to Paris with Harold Loeb to start Broom. Kreymborg and his 
wife came to the house frequently. He wanted very much to run The 
Long Gay Book, the thing Gertrude Stein had written just after The 
Making of Americans, as a serial. Of course Harold Loeb would not 
consent to that. Kreymborg used to read out the sentences from this 
book with great gusto. He and Gertrude Stein had a bond of union be- 
side their mutual liking because the Grafton Press that had printed 
Three Lives had printed his first book and about the same time. 

Kate Buss brought lots of people to the house. She brought Djuna 
Barnes and Mina Loy and they had wanted to bring James Joyce but 
they didn't. We were glad to see Mina whom we had known in Florence 
as Mina Haweis. Mina brought Glenway Wescott on his first trip to 
Europe. Glenway impressed us greatly by his english accent. Heming- 
way explained. He said, when you matriculate at the University of 
Chicago you write down just what accent you will have and they give 
it to you when you graduate. You can have a sixteenth century or 
modern, whatever you like. Glenway left behind him a silk cigarette 
case with his initials, we kept it until he came back again and then gave 
it to him. 

Mina also brought Robert McAlmon. McAlmon was very nice in 


those days, very mature and very good-looking. It was much later that 
he published The Making of Americans in the Contact press and that 
everybody quarrelled. But that is Paris, except that as a matter of fact 
Gertrude Stein and he never became friends again. 

Kate Buss brought Ernest Walsh, he was very young then and very 
feverish and she was very worried about him. We met him later with 
Hemingway and then in Belley, but we never knew him very well. 

We met Ezra Pound at Grace Lounsbery's house, he came home to 
dinner with us and he stayed and he talked about Japanese prints among 
other things. Gertrude Stein liked him but did not find him amusing. 
She said he was a village explainer, excellent if you were a village, but if 
you were not, not. Ezra also talked about T. S. Eliot. It was the first 
time any one had talked about T.S. at the house. Pretty soon everybody 
talked about T.S. Kitty Buss talked about him and much later Heming- 
way talked about him as the Major. Considerably later Lady Rother- 
mere talked about him and invited Gertrude Stein to come and meet 
him. They were founding the Criterion. We had met Lady Rothermere 
through Muriel Draper whom we had seen again for the first time after 
many years. Gertrude Stein was not particularly anxious to go to Lady 
Rothermere's and meet T. S. Eliot, but we all insisted she should, and 
she gave a doubtful yes. I had no evening dress to wear for this occasion 
and started to make one. The bell rang and in walked Lady Rothermere 
and T.S. 

Eliot and Gertrude Stein had a solemn conversation, mostly about 
split infinitives and other grammatical solecisms and why Gertrude 
Stein used them. Finally Lady Rothermere and Eliot rose to go and 
Eliot said that if he printed anything of Gertrude Stein's in the Criterion 
it would have to be her very latest thing. They left and Gertrude Stein 
said, don't bother to finish your dress, now we don't have to go, and she 
began to write a portrait of T. S. Eliot and called it the fifteenth of No- 
vember, that being this day and so there could be no doubt but that it 
was her latest thing. It was all about wool is wool and silk is silk or 
wool is woollen and silk is silken. She sent it to T. S. Eliot and he ac- 
cepted it but naturally he did not print it. 

Then began a long correspondence, not between Gertrude Stein and 
T. E. Eliot, but between T. S. Eliot's secretary and myself. We each ad- 
dressed the other as Sir, I signing myself A. B. Toklas and she signing 
initials. It was only considerably afterwards that I found out that his 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 167 

secretary was not a young man. I don't know whether she ever found 
out that I was not. 

In spite of all this correspondence nothing happened and Gertrude 
Stein mischievously told the story to all the english people coming to 
the house and at that moment there were a great many english coming 
in and out. At any rate finally there was a note, it was now early spring, 
from the Criterion asking would Miss Stein mind if her contribution 
appeared in the October number. She replied that nothing could be 
more suitable than the fifteenth of November on the fifteenth of October. 

Once more a long silence and then this time came proof of the article. 
We were surprised but returned the proof promptly. Apparently a young 
man had sent it without authority because very shortly came an apolo- 
getic letter saying that there had been a mistake, the article was not to be 
printed just yet. This was also told to the passing english with the result 
that after all it was printed. Thereafter it was reprinted in the Georgian 
Stories. Gertrude Stein was delighted when later she was told that Eliot 
had said in Cambridge that the work of Gertrude Stein was very fine 
but not for us. 

But to come back to Ezra. Ezra did come back and he came back with 
the editor of The Dial. This time it was worse than Japanese prints, it 
was much more violent. In his surprise at the violence Ezra fell out of 
Gertrude Stein's favourite little armchair, the one I have since tapestried 
with Picasso designs, and Gertrude Stein was furious. Finally Ezra and 
the editor of The Dial left, nobody too well pleased. Gertrude Stein did 
not want to see Ezra again. Ezra did not quite see why. He met Ger- 
trude Stein one day near the Luxembourg gardens and said, but I do 
want to come to see you. I am so sorry, answered Gertrude Stein, but Miss 
Toklas has a bad tooth and beside we are busy picking wild flowers. 
All of which was literally true, like all of Gertrude Stein's literature, but 
it upset Ezra, and we never saw him again. 

During these months after the war we were one day going down a 
little street and saw a man looking in at a window and going backwards 
and forwards and right and left and otherwise behaving strangely. Lip- 
schitz, said Gertrude Stein. Yes, said Lipschitz, I am buying an iron 
cock. Where is it, we asked. Why in there, he said, and in there it was. 
Gertrude Stein had known Lipschitz very slightly at one time but this 
incident made them friends and soon he asked her to pose. He had 
just finished a bust of Jean Cocteau and he wanted to do her. She never 


minds posing, she likes the calm of it and although she does not like 
sculpture and told Lipschitz so, she began to pose. I remember it was a 
very hot spring and Lipschitz's studio was appallingly hot and they 
spent hours there. 

Lipschitz is an excellent gossip and Gertrude Stein adores the begin- 
ning and middle and end of a story and Lipschitz was able to supply 
several missing parts of several stories. 

And then they talked about art and Gertrude Stein rather liked her 
portrait and they were very good friends and the sittings were over. 

One day we were across town at a picture show and somebody came 
up to Gertrude Stein and said something. She said, wiping her forehead, 
it is hot. He said he was a friend of Lipschitz and she answered, yes it 
was hot there. Lipschitz was to bring her some photographs of the head 
he had done but he did not and we were awfully busy and Gertrude 
Stein sometimes wondered why Lipschitz did not come. Somebody 
wanted the photos so she wrote to him to bring them. He came. She said 
why did you not come before. He said he did not come before because 
he had been told by some one to whom she had said it, that she was 
bored sitting for him. Oh hell, she said, listen I am fairly well known 
for saying things about any one and anything, I say them about people, 
I say them to people, I say them when I please and how I please but as 
I mostly say what I think, the least that you or anybody else can do is 
to rest content with what I say to you. He seemed very content and they 
talked happily and pleasantly and they said a bientot, we will meet soon. 
Lipschitz left and we did not see him for several years. 

Then Jane Heap turned up and wanted to take some of Lipschitz's 
things to America and she wanted Gertrude Stein to come and choose 
them. But how can I, said Gertrude Stein, when Lipschitz is very evi- 
dently angry, I am sure I have not the slightest idea why or how but he 
is. Jane Heap said that Lipschitz said that he was fonder of Gertrude 
Stein than he was of almost anybody and was heart broken at not seeing 
her. Oh, said Gertrude Stein, I am very fond of him. Sure I will go with 
you. She went, they embraced tenderly and had a happy time and her 
only revenge was in parting to say to Lipschitz, a tres bientot. And Lip- 
schitz said, comme vous etes mechante. They have been excellent friends 
ever since and Gertrude Stein has done of Lipschitz one of her most 
lovely portraits but they have never spoken of the quarrel and if he 
knows what happened the second time she does not. 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 169 

It was through Lipschitz that Gertrude Stein again met Jean Cocteau. 
Lipschitz had told Gertrude Stein a thing which she did not know, that 
Cocteau in his Potomak had spoken of and quoted The Portrait of 
Mabel Dodge. She was naturally very pleased as Cocteau was the first 
french writer to speak of her work. They met once or twice and began a 
friendship that consists in their writing to each other quite often and 
liking each other immensely and having many young and old friends 
in common, but not in meeting. 

Jo Davidson too sculptured Gertrude Stein at this time. There, all was 
peaceful, Jo was witty and amusing and he pleased Gertrude Stein. I 
cannot remember who came in and out, whether they were real or 
whether they were sculptured but there were a great many. There were' 
among others Lincoln Steflfens and in some queer way he is associated 
with the beginning of our seeing a good deal of Janet Scudder but I 
do not well remember just what happened. 

I do however remember very well the first time I ever heard Janet 
Scudder 's voice. It was way back when I first came to Paris and my 
friend and I had a little apartment in the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. 
My friend in the enthusiasm of seeing other people enthusiastic had 
bought a Matisse and it had just been hung on the wall. Mildred Aldrich 
was calling on us, it was a warm spring afternoon and Mildred was lean- 
ing out of the window. I suddenly heard her say, Janet, Janet come up 
here. What is it, said a very lovely drawling voice. I want you to come 
up here and meet my friends Harriet and Alice and I want you to come 
up and see their new apartment. Oh, said the voice. And then Mildred 
said, and they have a new big Matisse. Come up and see it. I don't think 
so, said the voice. 

Janet did later see a great deal of Matisse when he lived out in Clamart. 
And Gertrude Stein and she had always been friends, at least ever since 
the period when they first began to see a good deal of each other. 

Like Doctor Claribel Cone, Janet, always insisting that she under- 
stands none of it, reads and feels Gertrude Stein's work and reads it 
aloud understandingly. 

We were going to the valley of the Rhone for the first time since the 
war and Janet and a friend in a duplicate Godiva were to come too. I 
will tell about this very soon. 

During all these restless months we were also trying to get Mildred 
Aldrich the legion of honour. After the war was over a great many war- 


workers were given the legion of honour but they were all members 
of organisations and Mildred Aldrich was not. Gertrude Stein was very 
anxious that Mildred Aldrich should have it. In the first place she 
thought she ought, no one else had done as much propaganda for France 
as she had by her books which everybody in America read, and beside 
she knew Mildred would like it. So we began the campaign. It was not 
a very easy thing to accomplish as naturally the organizations had the 
most influence. We started different people going. We began to get lists 
of prominent americans and asked them to sign. They did not refuse, 
but a list in itself helps, but does not accomplish results. Mr. Jaccacci who 
had a great admiration for Miss Aldrich was very helpful but all the 
people that he knew wanted things for themselves first. We got the 
American Legion interested at least two of the colonels, but they also 
had other names that had to pass first. We had seen and talked to and 
interested everybody and everybody promised and nothing happened. 
Finally we met a senator. He would be helpful but then senators were 
busy and then one afternoon we met the senator's secretary. Gertrude 
Stein drove the senator's secretary home in Godiva. 

As it turned out the senator's secretary had tried to learn to drive a car 
and had not succeeded. The way in which Gertrude Stein made her 
way through Paris traffic with the ease and indifference of a chauffeur, 
and was at the same time a well known author impressed her im- 
mensely. She said she would get Mildred Aldrich's papers out of the 
pigeon hole in which they were probably reposing and she did. Very 
shortly after the mayor of Mildred's village called upon her one morning 
on official business. He presented her with the preliminary papers to 
be signed for the legion of honour. He said to her, you must remember, 
Mademoiselle, these matters often start but do not get themselves accom- 
plished. So you must be prepared for disappointment. Mildred answered 
quietly, monsieur le maire, if my friends have started a matter of this 
kind they will see to it that it is accomplished. And it was. When we ar- 
rived at Avignon on our way to Saint-Remy there was a telegram telling 
us that Mildred had her decoration. We were delighted and Mildred 
Aldrich to the day of her death never lost her pride and pleasure in her 

During these early restless years after the war Gertrude Stein worked 
a great deal. Not as in the old days, night after night, but anywhere, in 
between visits, in the automobile while she was waiting in the street 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 171 

while I did errands, while posing. She was particularly fond in these 
days of working in the automobile while it stood in the crowded streets. 

It was then that she wrote Finer Than Melanctha as a joke. Harold 
Loeb, at that time editing Broom all by himself, said he would like to 
have something of hers that would be as fine as Melanctha, her early 
negro story in Three Lives. 

She was much influenced by the sound of the streets and the move- 
ment of the automobiles. She also liked then to set a sentence for herself 
as a sort of tuning fork and metronome and then write to that time and 
tune. Mildred's Thoughts, published in The American Caravan, was 
one of these experiments she thought most successful. The Birthplace 
of Bonnes, published in The Little Review, was another one. Moral 
Tales of 19201921, American Biography, and One Hundred Prominent 
Men, when as she said she created out of her imagination one hundred 
men equally men and all equally prominent were written then. These 
two were later printed in Useful Knowledge. 

It was also about this time that Harry Gibb came back to Paris for a 
short while. He was very anxious that Gertrude Stein should publish a 
book of her work showing what she had been doing in those years. Not 
a little book, he kept saying, a big book, something they can get their 
teeth into. You must do it, he used to say. But no publisher will look at 
it now that John Lane is no longer active, she said. It makes no differ- 
ence, said Harry Gibb violently, it is the essence of the thing that they 
must see and you must have a lot of things printed, and then turning to 
me he said, Alice you do it. I knew he was right and that it had to be 
done. But how. 

I talked to Kate Buss about it and she suggested the Four Seas Com- 
pany who had done a little book for her. I began a correspondence with 
Mr. Brown, Honest to God Brown as Gertrude Stein called him in imi- 
tation of William Cook's phrase when everything was going particularly 
wrong. The arrangements with Honest to God having finally been made 
we left for the south in July, nineteen twenty-two. 

We started off in Godiva, the runabout ford and followed by Janet 
Scudder in a second Godiva accompanied by Mrs. Lane. They were 
going to Grasse to buy themselves a home, they finally bought one near 
Aix-en-Provence. And we were going to Saint-Remy to visit in peace the 
country we had loved during the war. 

We were only a hundred or so kilometers from Paris when Janet 


Scudder tooted x her horn which was the signal agreed upon for us to 
stop and wait. Janet came alongside. I think, said she solemnly, Gertrude 
Stein always called her The Doughboy, she always said there were only 
two perfectly solemn things on earth, the doughboy and Janet Scudder. 
Janet had also, Gertrude Stein always said, all the subtlety of the dough- 
boy and all his nice ways and all his lonesomeness. Janet came alongside, 
I think, she said solemnly, we are not on the right road, it says Paris- 
Perpignan and I want to go to Grasse. 

Anyway at the time we got no further than Lome and there we sud- 
denly realised how tired we were. We were just tired. 

We suggested that the others should move on to Grasse but they said 
they too would wait and we all waited. It was the first time we had 
just stayed still since Palma de Mallorca, since 1916. Finally we moved 
slowly on to Saint-Remy and they went further to Grasse and then came 
back. They asked us what we were going to do and we answered, noth- 
ing just stay here. So they went off again and bought a property in Aix- 

Janet Scudder, as Gertrude Stein always said, had the real pioneer's 
passion for buying useless real estate. In every little town we stopped 
on the way Janet would find a piece of property that she considered pur- 
chasable and Gertrude Stein, violently protesting, got her away. She 
wanted to buy property everywhere except in Grasse where she had gone 
to buy property. She finally did buy a house and grounds in Aix-en- 
Provence after insisting on Gertrude Stein's seeing it who told her not 
to and telegraphed no and telephoned no. However Janet did buy it but 
luckily after a year she was able to get rid of it. During that year we 
stayed quietly in Saint-Remy. 

We had intended staying only a month or two but we stayed all win- 
ter. With the exception of an occasional interchange of visits with Janet 
Scudder we saw no one except the people of the country. We went to 
Avignon to shop, we went now and then into the country we had known 
so well but for the most part we wandered around Saint-Remy, we went 
up into the Alpilles, the little hills that Gertrude Stein described over 
and over again in the writing of that winter, we watched the enormous 
flocks of sheep going up into the mountains led by the donkeys and their 
water bottles, we sat above the roman monuments and we went often to 
Les Baux. The hotel was not very comfortable but we stayed on. The 
valley of the Rhone was once more exercising its spell over us. 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 173 

It was during this winter that Gertrude Stein meditated upon the use 
of grammar, poetical forms and what might be termed landscape plays. 

It was at this time that she wrote Elucidation, printed in transition in 
nineteen twenty-seven. It was her first effort to state her problems of ex- 
pression and her attempts to answer them. It was her first effort to realise 
clearly just what her writing meant and why it was at it was. Later on 
much later she wrote her treatises on grammar, sentences, paragraphs, 
vocabulary etcetera, which I have printed in Plain Edition under the 
title of How To Write. 

It was in Saint-Remy and during this winter that she wrote the poetry 
that has so greatly influenced the younger generation. Her Capital 
Capitals, Virgil Thomson has put to music. Lend a Hand or Four Re- 
ligions has been printed in Useful Knowledge. This play has always 
interested her immensely, it was the first attempt that later made her 
Operas and Plays, the first conception of landscape as a play. She also 
at that time wrote the Valentine to Sherwood Anderson, also printed in 
the volume Useful Knowledge, Indian Boy, printed later in the Re- 
viewer, (Carl Van Vechten sent Hunter Stagg to us a young Southerner 
as attractive as his name), and Saints In Seven, which she used to illus- 
trate her work in her lectures at Oxford and Cambridge, and Talks to 
Saints in Saint-Remy. 

She worked in those days with slow care and concentration, and was 
very preoccupied. 

Finally we received the first copies of Geography and Plays, the win- 
ter was over and we went back to Paris. 

This long winter in Saint-Remy broke the restlessness of the war and 
the after war. A great many things were to happen, there were to be 
friendships and there were to be enmities and there were to be a great 
many other things but there was not to be any restlessness. 

Gertrude Stein always says that she only has two real distractions, 
pictures and automobiles. Perhaps she might now add dogs. 

Immediately after the war her attention was attracted by the work 
of a young french painter, Fabre, who had a natural feeling for objects 
on a table and landscapes but he came to nothing. The next painter who 
attracted her attention was Andre Masson. Masson was at that time in- 
fluenced by Juan Gris in whom Gertrude Stein's interest was permanent 
and vital. She was interested in Andre Masson as a painter particularly 
as a painter of white and she was interested in his composition in the 


wandering line in his compositions. Soon Masson fell under the influ- 
ence of the surrealistes. 

The surrealistes are the vulgarisation of Picabia as Delaunay and his 
followers and the futurists were the vulgarisation of Picasso. Picabia had 
conceived and is struggling with the problem that a line should have 
the vibration of a musical sound and that this vibration should be the 
result of conceiving the human form and the human face in so tenuous 
a fashion that it would induce such vibration in the line forming it. It 
is his way of achieving the disembodied. It was this idea that conceived 
mathematically influenced Marcel Duchamp and produced his The 
Nude Descending the Staircase. 

All his life Picabia has struggled to dominate and achieve this con- 
ception. Gertrude Stein thinks that perhaps he is now approaching the 
solution of his problem. The surrealistes taking the manner for the 
matter as is the way of the vulgarisers, accept the line as having become 
vibrant and as therefore able in itself to inspire them to higher flights. 
He who is going to be the creator of the vibrant line knows that it is not 
yet created and if it were it would not exist by itself, it would be de- 
pendent upon the emotion of the object which compels the vibration. 
So much for the creator and his followers. 

Gertrude Stein, in her work, has always been possessed by the intel- 
lectual passion for exactitude in the description of inner and outer 
reality. She has produced a simplification by this concentration, and as 
a result the destruction of associational emotion in poetry and prose. She 
knows that beauty, music, decoration, the result of emotion should never 
be the cause, even events should not be the cause of emotion nor should 
they be the material of poetry and prose. Nor should emotion itself be 
the cause of poetry or prose. They should consist of an exact reproduc- 
tion of either an outer or an inner reality. 

It was this conception of exactitude that made the close understand- 
ing between Gertrude Stein and Juan Gris. 

Juan Gris also conceived exactitude but in him exactitude had a mys- 
tical basis. As a mystic it was necessary for him to be exact. In Gertrude 
Stein the necessity was intellectual, a pure passion for exactitude. It is be- 
cause of this that her work has often been compared to that of mathe- 
maticians and by a certain french critic to the work of Bach. 

Picasso by nature the most endowed had less clarity of intellectual 
purpose. He was in his creative activity dominated by Spanish ritual, 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 175 

later by negro ritual expressed in negro sculpture (which has an arab 
basis the basis also of Spanish ritual) and later by russian ritual. His 
creative activity being tremendously dominant, he made these great 
rituals over into his own image. 

Juan Gris was the only person whom Picasso wished away. The rela- 
tion between them was just that. 

In the days when the friendship between Gertrude Stein and Picasso 
had become if possible closer than before, (it was for his little boy, born 
February fourth to her February third, that she wrote her birthday book 
with a line for each day in the year) in those days her intimacy with 
Juan Gris displeased him. Once after a show of Juan's pictures at the 
Gallerie Simon he said to her with violence, tell me why you stand up 
for his work, you know you do not like it; and she did not answer him. 

Later when Juan died and Gertrude Stein was heart broken Picasso 
came to the house and spent all day there. I do not know what was said 
but I do know that at one time Gertrude Stein said to him bitterly, you 
have no right to mourn, and he said, you have no right to say that to 
me. You never realised his meaning because you did not have it, she said 
angrily. You know very well I did, he replied. 

The most moving thing Gertrude Stein has ever written is The Life 
and Death of Juan Gris. It was printed in transition and later on trans- 
lated in german for his retrospective show in Berlin. 

Picasso never wished Braque away. Picasso said once when he and 
Gertrude Stein were talking together, yes, Braque and James Joyce, they 
are the incomprehensibles whom anybody can understand. Les incom- 
prehensibles que tout le monde peut comprendre. 

The first thing that happened when we were back in Paris was Hem- 
ingway with a letter of introduction from Sherwood Anderson. 

I remember very well the impression I had of Hemingway that first 
afternoon. He was an extraordinarily good-looking young man, twenty- 
three years old. It was not long after that that everybody was twenty- 
six. It became the period of being twenty-six. During the next two or 
three years all the young men were twenty-six years old. It was the right 
age apparently for that time and place. There were one or two under 
twenty, for example George Lynes but they did not count as Gertrude 
Stein carefully explained to them. If they were young men they were 
twenty-six. Later on, much later on they were twenty-one and twenty- 


So Hemingway was twenty-three, rather foreign looking, with pas- 
sionately interested, rather than interesting eyes. He sat in front of Ger- 
trude Stein and listened and looked. 

They talked then, and more and more, a great deal together. He asked 
her to come and spend an evening in their apartment and look at his 
work. Hemingway had then and has always a very good instinct for 
finding apartments in strange but pleasing localities and good femmes 
de menage and good food. This his first apartment was just off the place 
du Tertre. We spent the evening there and he and Gertrude Stein went 
over all the writing he had done up to that time. He had begun the novel 
that it was inevitable he would begin and there were the little poems 
afterwards printed by McAlmon in the Contract Edition. Gertrude 
Stein rather liked the poems, they were direct, Kiplingesque, but the 
novel she found wanting. There is a great deal of description in this, she 
said, and not particularly good description. Begin over again and con- 
centrate, she said. 

Hemingway was at this time Paris correspondent for a Canadian news- 
paper. He was obliged there to express what he called the Canadian view- 

He and Gertrude Stein used to walk together and talk together a 
great deal. One day she said to him, look here, you say you and your 
wife have a little money between you. Is it enough to live on if you live 
quietly. Yes, he said. Well, she said, then do it. If you keep on doing 
newspaper work you will never see things, you will only see words and 
that will not do, that is of course if you intend to be a writer. Heming- 
way said he undoubtedly intended to be a writer. He and his wife went 
away on a trip and shortly after Hemingway turned up alone. He came 
to the house about ten o'clock in the morning and he stayed, he stayed for 
lunch, he stayed all afternoon, he stayed for dinner and he stayed until 
about ten o'clock at night and then all of a sudden he announced that 
his wife was enceinte and then with great bitterness, and I, I am too 
young to be a father. We consoled him as best we could and sent him on 
his way. 

When they came back Hemingway said that he had made up his 
mind. They would go back to America and he would work hard for a 
year and with what he would earn and what they had they would settle 
down and he would give up newspaper work and make himself a writer. 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 177 

They went away and well within the prescribed year they came back 
with a new born baby. Newspaper work was over. 

The first thing to do when they came back was as they thought to get 
the baby baptised. They wanted Gertrude Stein and myself to be god- 
mothers and an english war comrade of Hemingway was to be god- 
father. We were all born of different religions and most of us were 
not practising any, so it was rather difficult to know in what church the 
baby could be baptised. We spent a great deal of time that winter, all of 
of us, discussing the matter. Finally it was decided that it should be 
baptised episcopalian and episcopalian it was. Just how it was managed 
with the assortment of god-parents I am sure I do not know, but it was 
baptised in the episcopalian chapel. 

Writer or painter god-parents are notoriously unreliable. That is, 
there is certain before long to be a cooling of friendship. \ know several 
cases of this, poor Paulot Picasso's god-parents have wandered out of 
sight and just as naturally it is a long time since any of us have seen or 
heard of our Hemingway god-child. 

However in the beginning we were active god-parents, I particularly. 
I embroidered a little chair and I knitted a gay coloured garment for the 
god-child. In the meantime the god-child's father was very earnestly at 
work making himself a writer. 

Gertrude Stein never corrects any detail of anybody's writing, she 
sticks strictly to general principles, the way of seeing what the writer 
chooses to see, and the relation between that vision and the way it gets 
down. When the vision is not complete the words are flat, it is very 
simple, there can be no mistake about it, so she insists. It was at this time 
that Hemingway began the short things that afterwards were printed 
in a volume called In Our Time. 

One day Hemingway came in very excited about Ford Madox Ford 
and the Transatlantic. Ford Madox Ford had started the Transatlantic 
some months before. A good many years before, indeed before the war, 
we had met Ford Madox Ford who was at that time Ford Madox 
Hueffer. He was married to Violet Hunt and Violet Hunt and Gertrude 
Stein were next to each other at the tea table and talked a great deal 
together. I was next to Ford Madox HuefTer and I liked him very much 
and I liked his stories of Mistral and Tarascon and I liked his having 
been followed about in that land of the french royalist, on account of 


his resemblance to the Bourbon claimant. I had never seen the Bourbon 
claimant but Ford at that time undoubtedly might have been a Bourbon. 

We had heard that Ford was in Paris, but we had not happened to 
meet. Gertrude Stein had however seen copies of the Transatlantic and 
found it interesting but had thought nothing further about it. 

Hemingway came in then very excited and said that Ford wanted 
something of Gertrude Stein's for the next number and he, Hemingway, 
wanted The Making of Americans to be run in it as a serial and he had 
to have the first fifty pages at once. Gertrude Stein was of course quite 
overcome with her excitement at this idea, but there was no copy of the 
manuscript except the one that we had had bound. That makes no dif- 
ference, said Hemingway, I will copy it. And he and I between us did 
copy it and it was printed in the next number of the Transatlantic. So 
for the first time a piece of the monumental work which was the begin- 
ning, really the beginning of modern writing, was printed, and we were 
very happy. Later on when things were difficult between Gertrude Stein 
and Hemingway, she always remembered with gratitude that after all 
it was Hemingway who first caused to be printed a piece of The Mak- 
ing of Americans. She always says, yes sure I have a weakness for 
Hemingway. After all he was the first of the young men to knock at 
my door and he did make Ford print the first piece of The Making of 

I myself have not so much confidence that Hemingway did do this. 
I have never known what the story is but I have always been certain 
that there was some other story behind it all. That is the way I feel 
about it. 

Gertrude Stein and Sherwood Anderson are very funny on the sub- 
ject of Hemingway. The last time that Sherwood was in Paris they often 
talked about him. Hemingway had been formed by the two of them and 
they were both a little proud and a little ashamed of the work of their 
minds. Hemingway had at one moment, when he had repudiated 
Sherwood Anderson and all his works, written him a letter in the name 
of american literature which he, Hemingway, in company with his con- 
temporaries was about to save, telling Sherwood just what he, Heming- 
way thought about Sherwood's work, and, that thinking, was in no sense 
complimentary. When Sherwood came to Paris Hemingway naturally 
was afraid. Sherwood as naturally was not. 

As I say he and Gertrude Stein were endlessly amusing on the sub- 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 179 

ject. They admitted that Hemingway was yellow, he is, Gertrude Stein 
insisted, just like the flat-boat men on the Mississippi river as described 
by Mark Twain. But what a book, they both agreed, would be the real 
story of Hemingway, not those he writes but the confessions of the real 
Ernest Hemingway. It would be for another audience than the audience 
Hemingway now has but it would be very wonderful. And then they 
both agreed that they have a weakness for Hemingway because he is 
such a good pupil. He is a rotten pupil, I protested. You don't under- 
stand, they both said, it is so flattering to have a pupil who does it with- 
out understanding it, in other words he takes training and anybody who 
takes training is a favourite pupil. They both admit it to be a weakness. 
Gertrude Stein added further, you see he is like Derain. You remember 
Monsieur de Tuille said, when I did not understand why Derain was 
having the success he was having that it was because he looks like a 
modern and he smells of the museums. And that is Hemingway, he 
looks like a modern and he smells of the museums. But what a story 
that of the real Hem, and one he should tell himself but alas he never 
will. After all, as he himself once murmured, there is the career, the 

But to come back to the events that were happening. 

Hemingway did it all. He copied the manuscript and corrected the 
proof. Correcting proofs is, as I said before, like dusting, you learn the 
values of the thing as no reading suffices to teach it to you. In correcting 
these proofs Hemingway learned a great deal and he admired all that 
he learned. It was at this time that he wrote to Gertrude Stein saying 
that it was she who had done the work in writing The Making of Amer- 
icans and he and all his had but to devote their lives to seeing that it was 

He had hopes of being able to accomplish this. Some one, I think by 
the name of Sterne, said that he could place it with a publisher. Ger- 
trude Stein and Hemingway believed that he could, but soon Heming- 
way reported that Sterne had entered into his period of unreliability. 
That was the end of that. 

In the meantime and sometime before this Mina Loy had brought Mc- 
Almon to the house and he came from time to time and he brought his 
wife and brought William Carlos Williams. And finally he wanted to 
print The Making of Americans in the Contact Edition and finally he 
did. I will come to that. 


In the meantime McAlmon had printed the three poems and ten 
stories of Hemingway and William Bird had printed In Our Time and 
Hemingway was getting to be known. He was coming to know Dos 
Passos and Fitzgerald and Bromfield and George Antheil and every- 
body else and Harold Loeb was once more in Paris. Hemingway had 
become a writer. He was also a shadow-boxer, thanks to Sherwood, and 
he heard about bull-fighting from me. I have always loved Spanish danc- 
ing and Spanish bull-fighting and I loved to show the photographs of 
bull-fighters and bull-fighting. I also loved to show the photograph 
where Gertrude Stein and I were in the front row and had our picture 
taken there accidentally. In these days Hemingway was teaching some 
young chap how to box. The boy did not know how, but by accident he 
knocked Hemingway out. I believe this sometimes happens. At any rate 
in these days Hemingway althought a sportsman was easily tired. He 
used to get quite worn out walking from his house to ours. But then he 
had been worn by the war. Even now he is, as Helene says all men 
are, fragile. Recently a robust friend of his said to Gertrude Stein, Ernest 
is very fragile, whenever he does anything sporting something breaks, 
his arm, his leg, or his head. 

Jn those early days Hemingway liked all his contemporaries except 
Cummings. He accused Cummings of having copied everything, not 
from anybody but from somebody. Gertrude Stein who had been much 
impressed by The Enormous Room said that Cummings did not copy, 
he was the natural heir of the New England tradition with its aridity 
and its sterility, but also with its individuality. They disagreed about 
this. They also disagreed about Sherwood Anderson. Gertrude Stein 
contended that Sherwood Anderson had a genius for using a sentence 
to convey a direct emotion, this was in the great american tradition, 
and that really except Sherwood there was no one in America who 
could write a clear and passionate sentence. Hemingway did not believe 
this, he did not like Sherwood's taste. Taste has nothing to do with sen- 
tences, contended Gertrude Stein. She also added that Fitzgerald was 
the only one of the younger writers who wrote naturally in sentences. 

Gertrude Stein and Fitzgerald are very peculiar in their relation to 
each other. Gertrude Stein had been very much impressed by This Side 
of Paradise. She read it when it came out and before she knew any of 
the young american writers. She said of it that it was this book that 
really created for the public the new generation. She has never changed 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 181 

her opinion about this. She thinks this equally true of The Great Gatsby. 
She thinks Fitzgerald will be read when many of his well known con- 
temporaries are forgotten. Fitzgerald always says that he thinks Ger- 
trude Stein says these things just to annoy him by making him think 
that she means them, and he adds in his favourite way, and her doing 
it is the cruellest thing I ever heard. They always however have a very 
good time when they meet. And the last time they met they had a good 
time with themselves and Hemingway. 

Then there was McAlmon. McAlmon had one quality that appealed 
to Gertrude Stein, abundance, he could go on writing, but she com- 
plained that it was dull. 

There was also Glenway Wescott but Glenway Wescott at no time 
interested Gertrude Stein. He has a certain syrup but it does not pour. 

So then Hemingway's career was begun. For a little while we saw 
less of him and then he began to come again. He used to recount to Ger- 
trude Stein the conversations that he afterwards used in The Sun Also 
Rises and they talked endlessly about the character of Harold Loeb. At 
this time Hemingway was preparing his volume of short stories to sub- 
mit to publishers in America. One evening after we had not seen him 
for a while he turned up with Shipman. Shipman was an amusing boy 
who was to inherit a few thousand dollars when he came of age. He 
was not of age. He was to buy the Transatlantic Review when he came 
of age, so Hemingway said. He was to support a surrealist review when 
he came of age, Andre Masson said. He was to buy a house in the coun- 
try when he came of age, Josette Gris said. As a matter of fact when he 
came of age nobody who had known him then seemed to know what he 
did do with his inheritance. Hemingway brought him with him to the 
house to talk about buying the Transatlantic and incidentally he brought 
the manuscript he intended sending to America. He handed it to Ger- 
trude Stein. He had added to his stories a little story of meditations and 
in these he said that The Enormous Room was the greatest book he 
had ever read. It was then that Gertrude Stein said, Hemingway, re- 
marks are not literature. 

After this we did not see Hemingway for quite a while and then we 
went to see some one, just after The Making of Americans was printed, 
and Hemingway who was there came up to Gertrude Stein and began 
to explain why he would not be able to write a review of the book. Just 
then a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and Ford Madox Ford said, 


young man it 'is I who wish to speak to Gertrude Stein. Ford then said 
to her, I wish to ask your permission to dedicate my new book to you. 
May I. Gertrude Stein and I were both awfully pleased and touched. 

For some years after this Gertrude Stein and Hemingway did not 
meet. And then we heard that he was back in Paris and telling a num- 
ber of people how much he wanted to see her. Don't you come home 
with Hemingway on your arm, I used to say when she went out for a 
walk. Sure enough one day she did come back bringing him with her. 

They sat and talked a long time. Finally I heard her say, Hemingway, 
after all you are ninety percent Rotarian. Can't you, he said, make it 
eighty percent. No, said she regretfully, I can't. After all, as she always 
says, he did, and I may say, he does have moments of disinterestedness. 

After that they met quite often. Gertrude Stein always says she likes 
to see him, he is so wonderful. And if he could only tell his own story. 
In their last conversation she accused him of having killed a great many 
of his rivals and put them under the sod. I never, said Hemingway, 
seriously killed anybody but one man and he was a bad man and, he 
deserved it, but if I killed anybody else I did it unknowingly, and so I 
am not responsible. 

It was Ford who once said of Hemingway, he comes and sits at my 
feet and praises me. It makes me nervous. Hemingway also said once, 
I turn my flame which is a small one down and down and then suddenly 
there is a big explosion. If there were nothing but explosions my work 
would be so exciting nobody could bear it. 

However, whatever I say, Gertrude Stein always says, yes I know but 
I have a weakness for Hemingway. 

Jane Heap turned up one afternoon. The Little Review had printed 
the Birthplace of Bonnes and The Valentine to Sherwood Anderson. 
Jane Heap sat down and we began to talk. She stayed to dinner and 
she stayed the evening and by dawn the little ford car Godiva which 
had been burning its lights all night waiting to be taken home could 
hardly start to take Jane home. Gertrude Stein then and always liked 
Jane Heap immensely, Margaret Anderson interested her much less. 

It was now once more summer and this time we went to the Cote 
d'Azur and joined the Picassos at Antibes. It was there I first saw Pi- 
casso's mother. Picasso looks extraordinarily like her. Gertrude Stein 
and Madame Picasso had difficulty in talking not having a common 
language but they talked enough to amuse themselves. They were talk- 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 183 

ing about Picasso when Gertrude Stein first knew him. He was remark- 
ably beautiful then, said Gertrude Stein, he was illuminated as if he 
wore a halo. Oh, said Madame Picasso, if you thought him beautiful 
then I assure you it was nothing compared to his looks when he was a 
boy. He was an angel and a devil in beauty, no one could cease looking 
at him. And now, said Picasso a little resentfully. Ah now, said they 
together, ah now there is no such beauty left. But, added his mother, 
you are very sweet and as a son very perfect. So he had to be satisfied 
with that. 

It was at this time that Jean Cocteau who prides himself on being 
eternally thirty was writing a little biography of Picasso, and he sent 
him a telegram asking him to tell him the date of his birth. And yours, 
telegraphed back Picasso. 

There are so many stories about Picasso and Jean Cocteau. Picasso like 
Gertrude Stein is easily upset if asked to do something suddenly and 
Jean Cocteau does this quite successfully. Picasso resents it and revenges 
himself at greater length. Not long ago there was a long story. 

Picasso was in Spain, in Barcelona, and a friend of his youth who was 
editor of a paper printed, not in Spanish but in Catalan, interviewed him. 
Picasso knowing that the interview to be printed in Catalan was prob- 
ably never going to be printed in Spanish, thoroughly enjoyed himself. 
He said that Jean Cocteau was getting to be very popular in Paris, so 
popular that you could find his poems on the table of any smart coiffeur. 

As I say he thoroughly enjoyed himself in giving this interview and 
then returned to Paris. 

Some Catalan in Barcelona sent the paper to some Catalan friend in 
Paris and the Catalan friend in Paris translated it to a french friend 
and the french friend printed the interview in a french paper. 

Picasso and his wife told us the story together of what happened then. 
As soon as Jean saw the article, he tried to see Pablo. Pablo refused to 
see him, he told the maid to say that he was always out and for days 
they could not answer the telephone. Cocteau finally stated in an inter- 
view given to the french press that the interview which had wounded 
him so sorely had turned out to be an interview with Picabia and not 
an interview with Picasso, his friend. Picabia of course denied this. Coc- 
teau implored Picasso to give a public denial. Picasso remained discreetly 
at home. 

The first evening the Picassos went out they went to the theatre and 


there in front of them seated was Jean Cocteau's mother. At the first 
intermission they went up to her, and surrounded by all their mutual 
friends she said, my dear, you cannot imagine the relief to me and to 
Jean to know that it was not you that gave out that vile interview, do 
tell me that it was not. 

And as Picasso's wife said, I as a mother could not let a mother suffer 
and I said of course it was not Picasso and Picasso said, yes yes of course 
it was not, and so the public retraction was given. 

It was this summer that Gertrude Stein, delighting in the movement 
of the tiny waves on the Antibes shore, wrote the Completed Portrait of 
Picasso, the Second Portrait of Carl Van Vechten, and The Book of Con- 
cluding With As A Wife Has A Cow A Lo,ve Story this afterwards 
beautifully illustrated by Juan Gris. 

Robert McAlmon had definitely decided to public The Making of 
Americans, and we were to correct proofs that summer. The summer be- 
fore we had intended as usual to meet the Picassos at Antibes. I had been 
reading the Guide des Gourmets and I had found among other places 
where one ate well, Pernollet's Hotel in the town of Belley. Belley is its 
name and Belley is its nature, as Gertrude Stein's elder brother re- 
marked. We arrived there about the middle of August. On the map it 
looked as if it were high up in the mountains and Gertrude Stein does 
not like precipices and as we drove through the gorge I was nervous and 
she protesting, but finally the country opened out delightfully and we 
arrived in Belley. It was a pleasant hotel although it had no garden and 
we had intended that it should have a garden. We stayed on for several 

Then Madame Pernollet, a pleasant round faced woman said to us 
that since we were evidently staying on why did we not make rates by 
the day or by the week. We said we would. In the meanwhile the 
Picassos wanted to know what had become of us. We replied that we 
were in Belley. We found that Belley was the birthplace of Brillat- 
Savarin. We now in Bilignin are enjoying using the furniture from the 
house of Brillat-Savarin which house belongs to the owner of this house. 

We also found that Lamartine had been at school in Belley and Ger- 
trude Stein says that wherever Lamartine stayed any length of time one 
eats well. Madame Recamier also comes from this region and the place 
is full of descendants of her husband's family. All these things we found 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 185 

out gradually but for the moment we were comfortable and we stayed 
on and left late. The following summer we were to correct proofs of 
The Making of Americans and so we left Paris early and came again 
to Belley. What a summer it was. 

The Making of Americans is a book one thousand pages long, closely 
printed on large pages. Darantiere has told me it has five hundred and 
sixty-five thousand words. It was written in nineteen hundred and six 
to nineteen hundred and eight, and except for the sections printed in 
Transatlantic it was all still in manuscript. 

The sentences as the book goes on get longer and longer, they are some- 
times pages long and the compositors were french, and when they made 
mistakes and left out a line the effort of getting it back again was terrific. 

We used to leave the hotel in the morning with camp chairs, lunch 
and proof, and all day we struggled with the errors of French com- 
positors. Proof had to be corrected most of it four times and finally I 
broke my glasses, my eyes gave out, and Gertrude Stein finished alone. 

We used to change the scene of our labours and we found lovely spots 
but there were always to accompany us those endless pages of printers' 
errors. One of our favourite hillocks where we could see Mont Blanc in 
the distance we called Madame Mont Blanc. 

Another place we went to often was near a little pool made by a small 
stream near a country cross-road. This was quite like the middle ages, 
so many things used to happen there, in a very simple middle age way. 
I remember once a country-man came up to us leading his oxen. Very 
politely he said, ladies is there anything the matter with me. Why yes, 
we replied, your face is covered with blood. Oh, he said, you see my 
oxen were slipping down the hill and I held them back and I too slipped 
and I wondered if anything had happened to me. We helped him wash 
the blood off and he went on. 

It was during this summer that Gertrude Stein began two long things, 
A Novel and the Phenomena of Nature which was to lead later to the 
whole series of meditations on grammar and sentences. 

It led first to An Acquaintance With Description, afterwards printed 
by the Seizin Press. She began at this time to describe landscape as if 
anything she saw was a natural phenomenon, a thing existent in itself, 
and she found it, this exercise, very interesting and it finally led her to 
the later series of Operas and Plays. I am trying to be as commonplace as 


I can be, she used to say to me. And then sometimes a little worried, it 
is not too commonplace. The last thing that she had finished, Stanzas 
of Meditation, and which I am now typewriting, she considers her real 
achievement of the commonplace. 

But to go back. We returned to Paris, the proofs almost done, and 
Jane Heap was there. She was very excited. She had a wonderful plan, 
I have now quite forgotten what it was, but Gertrude Stein was enor- 
mously pleased with it. It had something to do with a plan for another 
edition of The Making of Americans in America. 

At any rate in the various complications connected with this matter 
McAlmon became very angry and not without reason, and The Mak- 
ing of Americans appeared but McAlmon and Gertrude Stein were no 
longer friends. 

When Gertrude Stein was quite young her brother once remarked 
to her, that she, having been born in February, was very like George 
Washington, she was impulsive and slow-minded. Undoubtedly a great 
many complications have been the result. 

One day in this same spring we were going to visit a new spring salon. 
Jane Heap had been telling us of a young russian in whose work she 
was interested. As we were crossing a bridge in Godiva we saw Jane 
Heap and the young russian. We saw his pictures and Gertrude Stein 
too was interested. He of course came to see us. 

In How To Write Gertrude Stein makes this sentence, Painting now 
after its great period has come back to be a minor art. 

She was very interested to know who was to be the leader of this art. 

This is the story. 

The young russian was interesting. He was painting, so he said, 
colour that was no colour, he was painting blue pictures and he was 
painting three heads in one. Picasso had been drawing three heads in 
one. Soon the russian was painting three figures in one. Was he the only 
one. In a way he was although there was a group of them. This group, 
very shortly after Gertrude Stein knew the russian, had a show at one 
of the art galleries, Druet's I think. The group then consisted of the 
russian, a frenchman, a very young dutchman, and two russian brothers. 
All of them except the dutchman about twenty-six years old. 

At this show Gertrude Stein met George Antheil who asked to come 
to see her and when he came he brought with him Virgil Thomson. 
Gertrude Stein had not found George Antheil particularly interesting 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 187 

although she liked him, but Virgil Thomson she found very interesting 
although I did riot like him. 

However all this I will tell about later. To go back now to painting. 

The russian Tchelitchev's work was the most vigorous of the group 
and the most mature and the most interesting. He had already then 
a passionate enmity m against the frenchman whom they called Bebe 
Berard and whose name was Christian Berard and whom Tchefttchev 
said copied everything. 

Rene Crevel had been the friend of all these painters. Some time later 
one of them was to have a one man show at the Gallerie Pierre. We were 
going to it and on the way we met Rene. We all stopped, he was exhila- 
rated with exasperation. He talked with his characteristic brilliant vio- 
lence. These painters, he said, sell their pictures for several thousand 
francs apiece and they have the pretentiousness which comes from being 
valued in terms of money, and we writers who have twice their quality 
and infinitely greater vitality cannot earn a living and have to beg and 
intrigue to induce publishers to publish us; but the time will come, and 
Rene became prophetic, when these same painters will come to us to 
re-create them and then we will contemplate them with indifference. 

Rene was then and has remained ever since a devout surrealiste. He 
needs and needed, being a frenchman, an intellectual as well as a basal 
justification for the passionate exaltation in him. This he could not find, 
being of the immediate postwar generation, in either religion or patriot- 
ism, the war having destroyed for his generation, both patriotism and 
religion as a passion. Surrcalisme has been his justification. It has clari- 
fied for him the confused negation in which he lived and loved. This he 
alone of his generation has really succeeded in expressing, a little in his 
earlier books, and in his last book, The Clavecin of Diderot very ade- 
quately and with the brilliant violence that is his quality. 

Gertrude Stein was at first not interested in this group of painters as 
a group but only in the russian. This interest gradually increased and 
then she was bothered. Granted, she used to say, that the influences 
which make a new movement in art and literature have continued and 
are making a new movement in art and literature; in order to seize these 
influences and create as well as re-create them there needs a very domi- 
nating creative power. This the russian manifestly did not have. Still 
there was a distinctly new creative idea. Where had it come from. Ger- 
trude Stein always says to the young painters when they complain that 


she changes her mind about their work, it is not I that change my mind 
about the pictures, but the paintings disappear into the wall, I do not 
see them any more and then they go out of the door naturally. 

In the meantime as I have said George Antheil had brought Virgil 
Thomson to the house and Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein became 
friends and saw each other a great deal. Virgil Thomson had put a num- 
ber of Gertrude Stein's things to music, Susie Asado, Preciosilla and 
Capital Capitals. Gertrude Stein was very much interested in Virgil 
Thomson's music. He had understood Satie undoubtedly and he had a 
comprehension quite his own of prosody. He understood a great deal of 
Gertrude Stein's work, he used to dream at night that there was some- 
thing there that he did not understand, but on the whole he was very 
well content with that which he did understand. She delighted in listen- 
ing to her words framed by his music. They saw a great deal of each 

Virgil had in his room a great many pictures by Christian Berard and 
Gertrude Stein used to look at them a great deal. She could not find out 
at all what she thought about them. 

She and Virgil Thomson used to talk about them endlessly. Virgil 
said he knew nothing about pictures but he thought these wonderful. 
Gertrude Stein told him about her perplexity about the new movement 
and that the creative power behind it was not the russian. Virgil said 
that there he quite agreed with her and he was convinced that it was 
Bebe Berard, baptised Christian. She said that perhaps that was the an- 
swer but she was very doubtful. She used to say of Bcrard's pictures, 
they are almost something and then they are just not. As she used to 
explain to Virgil, the Catholic Church makes a very sharp distinction 
between a hysteric and a saint. The same thing holds true in the art 
world. There is the sensitiveness of the hysteric which has all the appear- 
ance of creation, but actual creation has an individual force which is an 
entirely different thing. Gertrude Stein was inclined to believe that 
artistically Berard was more hysteric than saint. At this time she had 
come back to portrait writing with renewed vigour and she, to clarify 
her mind, as she said, did portraits of the russian and of the frenchman. 
In the meantime, through Virgil Thomson, she had met a young 
frenchman named Georges Hugnet. He and Gertrude Stein became 
very devoted to one another. He liked the sound of her writing and 
then he liked the sense and he liked the sentences. 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 189 

At his home were a great many portraits of himself painted by his 
friends. Among others one by one of the two russian brothers and one 
by a young englishman. Gertrude Stein was not particularly interested in 
any of these portraits. There was however a painting of a hand by this 
young englishman which she did not like but which she remembered. 

Every one began at this time to be very occupied with their own 
affairs. Virgil Thomson had asked Gertrude Stein to write an opera for 
him. Among the saints there were two saints whom she had always liked 
better than any others, Saint Theresa of Avila and Ignatius Loyola, and 
she said she would write him an opera about these two saints. She began 
this and worked very hard at it all that spring and finally finished Four 
Saints and gave it to Virgil Thomson to put to music. He did. And it is 
a completely interesting opera both as to words and music. 

All these summers we had continued to go to the hotel in Belley. We 
now had become so fond of this country, always the valley of the Rhone, 
and of the people of the country, and the trees of the country, and the 
oxen of the country, that we began looking for a house. One day we saw 
the house of our dreams across a valley. Go and ask the farmer there 
whose house that is, Gertrude Stein said to me. I said, nonsense it is an 
important house and it is occupied. Go and ask him, she said. Very re- 
luctantly I did. He said, well yes, perhaps it is for rent, it belongs to a 
little girl, all her people are dead and I think there is a lieutenant of the 
regiment stationed in Belley living there now, but I understand they 
were to leave. You might go and see the agent of the property. We did. 
He was a kindly old farmer who always told us allez doucement, go 
slowly. We did. We had the promise of the house, which we never saw 
any nearer than across the valley, as soon as the lieutenant should leave. 
Finally three years ago the lieutenant went to Morocco and we took the 
house still only having seen it from across the valley and we have liked 
it always more. 

While we were still staying at the hotel, Natalie Barney came one 
day and lunched there bringing some friends, among them, the Duchess 
of Clermont-Tonnerre. Gertrude Stein and she were delighted with one 
another and the meeting led to many pleasant consequences, but of that 

To return to the painters. Just after the opera was finished and before 
leaving Paris we happened to go to a show of pictures at the Gallerie 
Bonjean. There we met one of the russian brothers, Genia Berman, and 


Gertrude Stein was not uninterested in his pictures. She went with him 
to his studio and looked at everything he had ever painted. He seemed 
to have a purer intelligence than the other two painters who certainly 
had not created the modern movement, perhaps the idea had been orig- 
inally his. She asked him, telling her story as she was fond of telling it 
at that time to any one who would listen, had he originated the idea. 
He said with an intelligent inner smile that he thought he had. She was 
not at all sure that he was not right. He came down to Bilignin to see 
us and she slowly concluded that though he was a very good painter he 
was too bad a painter to have been the creator of an idea. So once more 
the search began. 

Again just before leaving Paris at this same picture gallery she saw 
a picture of a poet sitting by a waterfall. Who did that, she said. A young 
englishman, Francis Rose, was the reply. Oh yes I am not interested in 
his work. How much is that picture, she said : It cost very little. Gertrude 
Stein says a picture is either worth three hundred francs or three hun- 
dred thousand francs. She bought this for three hundred and we went 
away for the summer. 

Georges Hugnet had decided to become an editor and he began edit- 
ing the Editions de la Montagne. Actually it was George Maratier, every- 
body's friend who began this edition, but he decided to go to America 
and become an american and Georges Hugnet inherited it. The first 
book to appear was sixty pages in french of The Making of Americans. 
Gertrude Stein and Georges Hugnet translated them together and she 
was very happy about it. This was later followed by a volume of Ten 
Portraits written by Gertrude Stein and illustrated by portraits of the 
artists of themselves, and of the others drawn by them, Virgil Thomson 
by Berard and a drawing of Berard by himself, a portrait of Tchelitchev 
by himself, a portrait of Picasso by himself and one of Guillaume Apol- 
linaire and one of Erik Satie by Picasso, one of Kristians Tonny the 
young dutchman by himself and one of Bernard Fay by Tonny. These 
volumes were very well received and everybody was pleased. 

Once more everybody went away. 

Gertrude Stein in winter takes her white poodle Basket to be bathed 
at a vet's and she used to go to the picture gallery where she had 
bought the englishman's romantic picture and wait for Basket to dry. 
Every time she came home she brought more pictures by the english- 
man. She did not talk much about it but they accumulated. Several peo- 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 191 

pie began to tell her about this young man and offered to introduce 
him. Gertrude Stein declined. She said no she had had enough of know- 
ing young painters, she now would content herself with knowing young 

In the meantime Georges Hugnet wrote a poem called Enfance. Ger- 
trude Stein offered to translate it for him but instead she wrote a poem 
about it. This at first pleased Georges Hugnet too much and then did 
not please him at all. Gertrude Stein then called the poem Before The 
Flowers Of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded. Everybody mixed 
themselves up in all this. The group broke up. Gertrude Stein was very 
upset and then consoled herself by telling all about it in a delightful short 
story called From Left to Right and which was printed in the London 
Harper's Bazaar. 

It was not long after this that one day Gertrude Stein called in the 
concierge and asked him to hang up all the Francis Rose pictures, by 
this time there were some thirty odd. Gertrude Stein was very much 
upset while she was having this done. I asked her why she was doing it 
if it upset her so much. She said she could not help it, that she felt that 
way about it but to change the whole aspect of the room by adding these 
thirty pictures was very upsetting. There the matter rested for some 

To go back again to those days just after the publication of The Mak- 
ing of Americans. There was at that time a review of Gertrude Stein's 
book Geography and Plays in the Athenaeum signed Edith Sitwell. 
The review was long and a little condescending but I liked it. Gertrude 
Stein had not cared for it. A year later in the London Vogue was an 
article again by Edith Sitwell saying that since writing her article in 
the Athenaeum she had spent the year reading nothing but Geography 
and Plays and she wished to say how important and beautiful a book 
she had found it to be. 

One afternoon at Elmer Harden's we met Miss Todd the editor of 
the London Vogue. She said that Edith Sitwell was to be shortly in Paris 
and wanted very much to meet Gertrude Stein. She said that Edith Sit- 
well was very shy and hesitant about coming. Elmer Harden said he 
would act as escort. 

I remember so well my first impression of her, an impression which 
indeed has never changed. Very tall, bending slightly, withdrawing and 
hesitatingly advancing, and beautiful with the most distinguished nose 


I have ever seen on any human being. At that time and in conversation 
between Gertrude Stein and herself afterwards, I delighted in the deli- 
cacy and completeness of her understanding of poetry. She and Gertrude 
Stein became friends at once. This friendship like all friendships has had 
its difficulties but I am convinced that fundamentally Gertrude Stein 
and Edith Sitwell are friends and enjoy being friends. 

We saw a great deal of Edith Sitwell at this time and then she went 
back to London. In the autumn of that year nineteen twenty-five Ger- 
trude Stein had a letter from the president of the literary society of 
Cambridge asking her to speak before them in the early spring. Gertrude 
Stein quite completely upset at the very idea quite promptly answered 
no. Immediately came a letter from Edith Sitwell saying that the no 
must be changed to yes. That it was of the first importance that Ger- 
trude Stein should deliver this address and that moreover Oxford was 
waiting for the yes to be given to Cambridge to ask her to do the same 
at Oxford. 

There was very evidently nothing to do but to say yes and so Ger- 
trude Stein said yes. 

She was very, upset at the prospect, peace, she said, had much greater 
terrors than war. Precipices even were nothing to this. She was very low 
in her mind. Luckily early in January the ford car began to have every- 
thing the matter with it. The better garages would not pay much atten- 
tion to aged fords and Gertrude Stein used to take hers out to a shed 
in Montrouge where the mechanics worked at it while she sat. If she 
were to leave it there there would most likely have been nothing left of 
it to drive away. 

One cold dark afternoon she went out to sit with her ford car and 
while she sat on the steps of another battered ford watching her own 
being taken to pieces and put together again, she began to write. She 
stayed there several hours and when she came back chilled, with the 
ford repaired, she had written the whole of Composition As Explanation. 

Once the lecture written the next trouble was the reading of it. 
Everybody gave her advice. She read it to anybody who came to the 
house and some of them read it to her. Prichard happened to be in Paris 
just then and he and Emily Chadbourne between them gave advice 
and were an audience. Prichard showed her how to read it in the english 
manner but Emily Chadbourne was all for the american manner and 
Gertrude Stein was too worried to have any manner. We went one after- 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 193 

noon to Natalie Barney's. There there was a very aged and a very 
charming french professor of history. Natalie Barney asked him to tell 
Gertrude Stein how to lecture. Talk as quickly as you can and never 
look up, was his advice. Prichard had said talk as slowly as possible 
and never look down. At any rate I ordered a new dress and a new hat 
for Gertrude Stein and early in the spring we went to London. 

This was the spring of twenty-six and England was still very strict 
about passports. We had ours alright but Gertrude Stein hates to answer 
questions from officials, it always worries her and she was already none 
too happy at the prospect of lecturing. 

So taking both passports I went down stairs to see the officials. Ah, 
said one of them, and where is Miss Gertrude Stein. She is on deck, 
I replied, and she does not care to come down. She does not care to 
come down, he repeated, yes that is quite right, she does not care to come 
down, and he affixed the required signatures. So then we arrived in 
London. Edith Sitwell gave a party for us and so did her brother Osbert. 
Osbert was a great comfort to Gertrude Stein. He so thoroughly under- 
stood every possible way in which one could be nervous that as he sat 
beside her in the hotel telling her all the kinds of ways that he and she 
could suffer from stage fright she was quite soothed. She was always 
very fond of Osbert. She always said he was like an uncle of a king. He 
had that pleasant kindly irresponsible agitated calm that an uncle of an 
cnglish king always must have. 

Finally we arrived in Cambridge in the afternoon, were given tea 
and then dined with the president of the society and some of his friends. 
It was very pleasant and after dinner we went to the lecture room. It was 
a varied audience, men and women. Gertrude Stein was soon at her ease, 
the lecture went off very well, the men afterwards asked a great many 
questions and were very enthusiastic. The women said nothing. Ger- 
trude Stein wondered whether they were supposed not to or just did not. 

The day after we went to Oxford. There we lunched with young 
Acton and then went in to the lecture. Gertrude Stein was feeling more 
comfortable as a lecturer and this time she had a wonderful time. As 
she remarked afterwards, I felt just like a prima donna. 

The lecture room was full, many standing in the back, and the dis- 
cussion, after the lecture, lasted over an hour and no one left. It was 
very exciting. They asked all sorts of questions, they wanted to know 
most often why Gertrude Stein thought she was right in doing the kind 


of writing she did. She answered that it was not a question of what any 
one thought but after all she had been doing as she did for about twenty 
years and now they wanted to hear her lecture. This did not mean of 
course that they were coming to think that her way was a possible way, 
it proved nothing, but on the other hand it did possibly indicate some- 
thing. They laughed. Then up jumped one man, it turned out after- 
wards that he was a dean, and he said that in the Saints in Seven he had 
been very interested in the sentence about the ring around the moon, 
about the ring following the moon. He admitted that the sentence was 
one of the most beautifully balanced sentences he had ever heard, but 
still did the ring follow the moon. Gertrude Stein said, when you look 
at the moon and there is a ring around the moon and the moon moves 
does not the ring follow the moon. Perhaps it seems to, he replied. 
Well, in that case how, she said, do you know that it does not; he sat 
down. Another man, a don, next to him jumped up and asked some- 
thing else. They did this several times, the two of them, jumping up one 
after the other. Then the first man jumped up and said, you say that 
everything being the same everything is always different, how can that 
be so. Consider, she replied, the two of you, you jump up one after the 
other, that is the same thing and surely you admit that the two of you 
are always different. Touche, he said and the meeting was over. One 
of the men was so moved that he confided to me as we went out that 
the lecture had been his greatest experience since he had read Kant's 
Critique of Pure Reason. 

Edith Sitwell, Osbert and Sacheverell were all present and were all 
delighted. They were delighted with the lecture and they were delighted 
with the good humoured way in which Gertrude Stein had gotten the 
best of the hecklers. Edith Sitwell said that Sache chuckled about it all 
the way home. 

The next day we returned to Paris. The Sitwells wanted us to stay 
and be interviewed and generally go on with it but Gertrude Stein felt 
that she had had enough of glory and excitement. Not, as she always 
explains, that she could ever have enough of glory. After all, as she al- 
ways contends, no artist needs criticism, he only needs appreciation. If he 
needs criticism he is no artist. 

Leonard Woolf some months after this published Composition As 
Explanation in the Hogarth Essay Series. It was also printed in The 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 195 

Mildred Aldrich was awfully pleased at Gertrude Stein's english suc- 
cess. She was a good new englander and to her, recognition by Oxford 
and Cambridge, was even more important than recognition by the At- 
lantic Monthly. We went out to see her on our return and she had to 
have the lecture read to her again and to hear every detail of the whole 

Mildred Aldrich was falling upon bad days. Her annuity suddenly 
ceased and for a long time we did not know it. One day Dawson John- 
ston, the librarian of the American Library, told Gertrude Stein that 
Miss Aldrich had written to him to come out and get all her books as 
she would soon be leaving her home. We went out immediately and 
Mildred told us that her annuity had been stopped. It seems it was an 
annuity given by a woman who had fallen into her dotage and she one 
morning told her lawyer to cut off all the annuities that she had given 
for many years to a number of people. Gertrude Stein told Mildred not 
to worry. The Carnegie Fund, approached by Kate Buss, sent five hun- 
dred dollars, William Cook gave Gertrude Stein a blank cheque to 
supply all deficiencies, another friend of Mildred's from Providence 
-.Rhode Island came forward generously and the Atlantic Monthly started 
a fund. Very soon Mildred Aldrich was safe. She said ruefully to Ger- 
trude Stein, you would not let me go elegantly to the poorhouse and I 
would have gone elegantly, but you have turned this into a poor house 
and I am the sole inmate. Gertrude Stein comforted her and said that 
she could be just as elegant in her solitary state. After all, Gertrude Stein 
used to say to her, Mildred nobody can say that you have not had a good 
run for your money. Mildred Aldrich's last years were safe. 

William Cook 'after the war had been in Russia, in Tiflis, for three 
years in connection with Red Cross distribution there. One evening he 
and Gertrude Stein had been out to see Mildred, it was during her last 
illness and they were coming home one foggy evening. Cook had a small 
open car but a powerful searchlight, strong enough to pierce the fog. 
Just behind them was another small car which kept an even pace with 
them, when Cook drove faster, they drove faster, and when he slowed 
down, they slowed down. Gertrude Stein said to him, it is lucky for 
them that you have such a bright light, their lanterns are poor and they 
are having the benefit of yours. Yes, said Cook, rather curiously, I have 
been saying that to myself, but you know after three years of Soviet 
Russia and the Cheka, even I, an american, have gotten to feel a little 


queer, and I have to talk to myself about it, to be sure that the car 
behind us is not the car of the secret police. 

I said that Rene Crevel came to the house. Of all the young men who 
came to the house I think I liked Rene the best. He had french charm, 
which when it is at its most charming is more charming even than amer- 
ican charm, charming as that can be. Marcel Duchamp and Rene Crevel 
are perhaps the most complete examples of this french charm. We were 
very fond of Rene. He was young and violent and ill and revolutionary 
and sweet and tender. Gertrude Stein and Rene are very fond of each 
other, he writes her most delightful english letters, and she scolds him 
a great deal. It was he who, in early days, first talked to us of Bernard 
Fay. He said he was a young professor in the University of Clermont- 
Ferrand and he wanted to take us to his house. One afternoon he did 
take us there. Bernard Fay was not at all what Gertrude Stein expected 
and he and she had nothing in particular to say to each other. 

As I remember during that winter and the next we gave a great many 
parties. We gave a tea party for the Sitwells. 

Carl Van Vechten sent us quantities of negroes beside there were 
the negroes of our neighbour Mrs. Regan who had brought Josephine 
Baker to Paris. Carl sent us Paul Robeson. Paul Robeson interested Ger- 
trude Stein. He knew american values and american life as only one in 
it but not of it could know them. And yet as soon as any other person 
came into the room he became definitely a negro. Gertrude Stein did 
not like hearing him sing spirituals. They do not belong to you any 
more than anything else, so why claim them, she said. He did not 

Once a southern woman, a very charming southern woman, was there, 
and she said to him, where were you born, and he answered, in New 
Jersey and she said, not in the south, what a pity and he said, not for me. 

Gertrude Stein concluded that negroes were not suffering from per- 
secution, they were suffering from nothingness. She always contends that 
the african is not primitive, he has a very ancient but a very narrow 
culture and there it remains. Consequently nothing does or can happen. 

Carl Van Vechten himself came over for the first time since those far 
away days of the pleated shirt. All those years he and Gertrude Stein 
had kept up a friendship and a correspondence. Now that he was actu- 
ally coming Gertrude Stein was a little worried. When he came they 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 197 

were better friends than ever. Gertrude Stein told him that she had been 
worried. I wasn't, said Carl. 

Among the other young men who came to the house at the time when 
they came in such numbers was Bravig Imbs. We liked Bravig, even 
though as Gertrude Stein said, his aim was to please. It was he who 
brought Elliot Paul to the house and Elliot Paul brought transition. 

We had liked Bravig Imbs but we liked Elliot Paul more. He was very 
interesting. Elliot Paul was a new englander but he was a saracen, a 
saracen such as you sometimes see in the villages of France where the 
strain from some Crusading ancestor's dependents still survives. Elliot 
Paul was such a one. He had an element not of mystery but of eva- 
nescence, actually little by little he appeared and then as slowly he dis- 
appeared, and Eugene Jolas and Maria Jolas appeared. These once hav- 
ing appeared, stayed in their appearance. 

Elliot Paul was at that time working on the Paris Chicago Tribune 
and he was there writing a series of articles on the work of Gertrude 
Stein, the first seriously popular estimation of her work. At the same 
time he was turning the young journalists and proof-readers into writers. 
He started Bravig Imbs on his first book, The Professor's Wife, by stop- 
ping him suddenly in his talk and saying, you begin there. He did the 
same thing for others. He played the accordion as nobody else not native 
to the accordion could play it and he learned and played for Gertrude 
Stein accompanied on the violin by Bravig Imbs, Gertrude Stein's fa- 
vourite ditty, The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, My name is June and 
very very soon. 

The Trail of the Lonesome Pine as a song made a lasting appeal to 
Gertrude Stein. Mildred Aldrich had it among her records and when 
we spent the afternoon with her at Huiry, Gertrude Stein inevitably 
would start The Trail of the Lonesome Pine on the phonograph and 
play it and play it. She liked it in itself and she had been fascinated 
during the war with the magic of The Trail of the Lonesome Pine as 
a book for the doughboy. How often when a doughboy in hospital had 
become particularly fond of her, he would say, I once read a great book, 
do you know it, it is called The Trail of the Lonesome Pine. They finally 
got a copy of it in the camp at Nimes and it stayed by the bedside of 
every sick soldier. They did not read much of it, as far as she could make 
out sometimes only a paragraph, in the course of several days, but their 


voices were husky when they spoke of it, and when they were particu- 
larly devoted to her they would ofTer to lend her this very dirty and tat- 
tered copy. 

She reads anything and naturally she read this and she was puzzled. 
It had practically no story to it and it was not exciting, or adventurous, 
and it was very well written and was mostly description of mountain 
scenery. Later on she came across some reminiscences of a southern 
woman who told how the mountaineers in the southern army during 
the civil war used to wait in turn to read Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, 
an equally astonishing thing for again there is not much of a story and 
a great deal of description. However Gertrude Stein admits that she 
loves the song of The Trail of the Lonesome Pine in the same way that 
the doughboy loved the book and Elliot Paul played it for her on the 

One day Elliot Paul came in very excitedly, he usually seemed to be 
feeling a great deal of excitement but neither showed nor expressed it. 
This time however he did show it and express it. He said he wanted to 
ask Gertrude Stein's advice. A proposition had been made to him to 
edit a magazine in Paris and he was hesitating whether he should under- 
take it. Gertrude Stein was naturally all for it. After all, as she said, we 
do want to be printed. One writes for oneself and strangers but with no 
adventurous publishers how can one come in contact with those same 

However she was very fond of Elliot Paul and did not want him to 
take too much risk. No risk, said Elliot Paul, the money for it is guar- 
anteed for a number of years. Well then, said Gertrude Stein, one thing 
is certain no one could be a better editor than you would be. You are not 
egotistical and you know what you feel. 

Transition began and of course it meant a great deal to everybody. 
Elliot Paul chose with great care what he wanted to put into transition. 
He said he was afraid of its becoming too popular. If ever there are more 
than two thousand subscribers, I quit, he used to say. 

He chose Elucidation Gertrude Stein's first effort to explain herself, 
written in Saint-Remy to put into the first number of transition. Later 
As A Wife Has A Cow A Love Story. He was always very enthusiastic 
about this story. He liked Made A Mile Away, a description of the pic- 
tures that Gertrude Stein has liked and later a novelette of desertion If 
He Thinks, for transition. He had a perfectly definite idea of gradually 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 199 

opening the eyes of the public to the work of the writers that interested 
him and as I say he chose what he wanted with great care. He was very 
interested in Picasso and he became very deeply interested in Juan Gris 
and after his death printed a translation of Juan Gris' defence of paint- 
ing which had already been printed in french in the Transatlantic Re- 
view, and he printed Gertrude Stein's lament, The Life and Death of 
Juan Gris and her One Spaniard. 

Elliot Paul slowly disappeared and Eugene and Maria Jolas appeared. 

Transition grew more bulky. At Gertrude Stein's request transition 
reprinted Tender Buttons, printed a bibliography of all her work up to 
date and later printed her opera, Four Saints. For these printings Ger- 
trude Stein was very grateful. In the last numbers of transition nothing 
of hers appeared. Transition died. 

Of all the little magazines which as Gertrude Stein loves to quote, 
have died to make verse free, perhaps the youngest and freshest was the 
Blues. Its editor Charles Henri Ford has come to Paris and he is young 
and fresh as his Blues and also honest which also is a pleasure. Gertrude 
Stein thinks that he and Robert Coates alone among the young men 
have an individual sense of words. 

During this time Oxford and Cambridge men turned up from time 
to time at the rue de Fleurus. One of them brought with him Brewer, 
one of the firm of Payson and Clarke. 

Brewer was interested in the work of Gertrude Stein and though he 
promised nothing he and she talked over the possibilities of his firm 
printing something of hers. She had just written a shortish novel called 
A Novel, and was at the time working at another shortish novel which 
was called Lucy Church Amiably and which she describes as a novel of 
romantic beauty and nature and which looks like an engraving. She at 
Brewer's request wrote a summary of this book as an advertisement and 
he cabled his enthusiasm. However he wished first to commence with 
a collection of short things and she suggested in that case he should make 
it all the short things she had written about America and call it Useful 
Knowledge. This was done. 

There are many Paris picture dealers who like adventure in their 
business, there are no publishers in America who like adventure in theirs. 
In Paris there are picture dealers like Durand-Ruel who went broke 
twice suporting the impressionists, Vollard for Cezanne, Sagot for 
Picasso and Kahnweiler for all the cubists. They make their money as 



they can and they keep on buying something for which there is no 
present sale and they do so persistently until they create its public. And 
these adventurers are adventurous because that is the way they feel about 
it. There are others who have not chosen as well and have gone entirely 
broke. It is the tradition among the more adventurous Paris picture 
dealers to adventure. I suppose there are a great many reasons why pub- 
lishers do not. John Lane alone among publishers did. He perhaps did 
not die a very rich man but he lived well, and died a moderately rich one. 

We had a hope that Brewer might be this kind of a publisher. He 
printed Useful Knowledge, his results were not all that he anticipated 
and instead of continuing and gradually creating a public for Gertrude 
Stein's work he procrastinated and then said no. I suppose this was in- 
evitable. However that was the matter as it was and as it continued to be. 

I now myself began to think about publishing the work of Gertrude 
Stein. I asked her to invent a name for my edition and she laughed and 
said, call it Plain Edition. And Plain Edition it is. 

All that I knew about what I would have to do was that I would have 
to get the book printed and then to get it distributed, that is sold. 

I talked to everybody about how these two things were to be accom- 

At first I thought I would associate some one with me but that soon 
did not please me and I decided to do it all by myself. 

Gertrude Stein wanted the first book Lucy Church Amiably to look 
like a school book and to be bound in blue. Once having ordered my 
book to be printed my next problem was the problem of distribution. 
On this subject I received a great deal of advice. Some of the advice 
turned out to be good and some of it turned out to be bad. William A. 
Bradley, the friend and comforter of Paris authors, told me to subscribe 
to The Publishers' Weekly. This was undoubtedly wise advice. This 
helped me to learn something of my new business, but the real difficulty 
was to get to the booksellers. Ralph Church, philosopher and friend, 
said stick to the booksellers, first and last. Excellent advice but how to 
get to the booksellers. At this moment a kind friend said that she could 
get me copied an old list of booksellers belonging to a publisher. This 
list was sent to me and I began sending out my circulars. The circular 
pleased me at first but I soon concluded that it was not quite right. How- 
ever I did get orders from America and I was paid without much diffi- 
culty and I was encouraged. 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 201 

The distribution in Paris was at once easier and more difficult. It was 
easy to get the book put in the window of all the booksellers in Paris that 
sold english books. This event gave Gertrude Stein a childish delight 
amounting almost to ecstasy. She had never seen a book of hers in a 
bookstore window before, except a french translation of The Ten Por- 
traits, and she spent all her time in her wanderings about Paris looking 
at the copies of Lucy Church Amiably in the windows and coming back 
and telling me about it. 

The books were sold too and then as I was away from Paris six months 
in the year I turned over the Paris work to a french agent. This worked 
very well at first but finally did not work well. However one must learn 
one's trade. 

I decided upon my next book How To Write and not being entirely 
satisfied with the get up of Lucy Church Amiably, although it did look 
like a school book, I decided to have the next book printed at Dijon and 
in the form of an Elzevir. Again the question of binding was a difficulty. 

I went to work in the same way to sell How To Write, but I began 
to realise that my list of booksellers was out of date. Also I was told that 
I should write following up letters. Ellen du Pois helped me with these. 
I was told that I should have reviews. Ellen du Pois came to the rescue 
here too. And that I should advertise. Advertising would of necessity 
be too expensive; I had to keep my money to print my books, as my plans 
were getting more and more ambitious. Getting reviews was a difficulty, 
there are always plenty of humorous references to Gertrude Stein's work, 
as Gertrude Stein always says to comfort herself, they do quote me, that 
means that my words and my sentences get under their skins although 
they do not know it. It was difficult to get serious reviews. There are 
many writers who write her letters of admiration but even when they 
are in a position to do so they do not write themselves down in book 
reviews. Gertrude Stein likes to quote Browning who at a dinner party 
met a famous literary man and this man came up to Browning and 
spoke to him at length and in a very laudatory way about his poems. 
Browning listened and then said, and are you going to print what you 
have just said. There was naturally no answer. In Gertrude Stein's case 
there have been some notable exceptions, Sherwood Anderson, Edith 
Sitwell, Bernard Fay and Louis Bromfield. 

I also printed an edition of one hundred copies, very beautifully done 
at Chartres, of the poem of Gertrude Stein Before The Flowers Of 


Friendship Faded Friendship Faded. These one hundred copies sold 
very easily. 

I was better satisfied with the bookmaking of How To Write but 
there was always the question of binding the book. It is practically im- 
possible to get a decent commercial binding in France, french publish- 
ers only cover their books in paper. I was very troubled about this. 

One evening we went to an evening party at Georges Poupet's, a 
gentle friend of authors. There I met Maurice Darantiere. It was he 
who had printed The Making of Americans and he was always justly 
proud of it as a book and as bookmaking. He had left Dijon and had 
started printing books in the neighbourhood of Paris with a hand-press 
and he was printing very beautiful books. He js a kind man and I natu- 
rally began telling him my troubles. Listen, he said I have the solution. 
But I interrupted him, you must remember that I do not want to make 
these books expensive. After all Gertrude Stein's readers are writers, 
university students, librarians and young people who have very little 
money. Gertrude Stein wants readers not collectors. In spite of herself 
her books have too often become collector's books. They pay big prices 
for Tender Buttons and The Portrait of Mabel Dodge and that does 
not please her, she wants her books read not owned. Yes yes, he said, I 
understand. No this is what I propose. We will have your book set by 
monotype which is comparatively cheap, I will see to that, then I will 
handpull your books on good but not too expensive paper and they will 
be beautifully printed and instead of any covers I will have them bound 
in heavy paper like The Making of Americans, paper just like that, and 
I will have made little boxes in which they will fit perfectly, well made 
little boxes and there you are. And I will be able to sell them at a rea- 
sonable price. Yes you will see, he said. 

I was getting more ambitious I wished now to begin a series of three, 
beginning with Operas and Plays, going on with Matisse, Picasso and 
Gertrude Stein and Two Shorter Stories, and then going on with Two 
Long Poems and Many Shorter Ones. 

Maurice Darantiere has been as good as his word. He has printed 
Operas and Plays and it is a beautiful book and reasonable in price and 
he is now printing the second book Matisse Picasso and Gertrude Stein 
and Two Shorter Stories. Now I have an up to date list of booksellers 
and I am once more on my way. 

As I was saying after the return from England and lecturing we gave 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 203 

a great many parties, there were many occasions for parties, all the Sit- 
wells came over, Carl Van Vechten came over, Sherwood Anderson 
came over again. And beside there were many other occasions for parties. 

It was then that Gertrude Stein and Bernard Fay met again and this 
time they had a great deal to say to each other. Gertrude Stein found the 
contact with his mind stimulating and comforting. They were slowly 
coming to be friends. 

I remember once coming into the room and hearing Bernard Fay say 
that the three people of first rate importance that he had met in his life 
were Picasso, Gertrude Stein and Andre Gide and Gertrude Stein in- 
quired quite simply, that is quite right but why include Gide. A year or 
so later in referring to this conversation he said to her, and I ahi not sure 
you were not right. 

Sherwood came to Paris that winter and he was a delight. He was 
enjoying himself and we enjoyed him. He was being lionised and I must 
say he was a very appearing and disappearing lion. I remember his being 
asked to the Pen Club. Natalie Barney and a long-bearded frenchman 
were to be his sponsors. He wanted Gertrude Stein to come too. She 
said she loved him very much but not the Pen Club. Natalie Barney 
came over to ask her. Gertrude Stein who was caught outside, walking 
her dog, pleaded illness. The next day Sherwood turned up. How was 
it, asked Gertrude Stein. Why, said he, it wasn't a party for me, it was 
a party for a big woman, and she was just a derailed freight car. 

We had installed electric radiators in the studio, we were as our finnish 
servant would say getting modern. She finds it difficult to understand 
why we are not more modern. Gertrude Stein says that if you are way 
ahead with your head you naturally are old fashioned and regular in 
your daily life. And Picasso adds, do you suppose Michael Angelo would 
have been grateful for a gift of a piece of renaissance furniture, no he 
wanted a greek coin. 

We did install electric radiators and Sherwood turned up and we gave 
him a Christmas party. The radiators smelled and it was terrifically hot 
but we were all pleased as it was a nice party. Sherwood looked as usual 
very handsome in one of his very latest scarf ties. Sherwood Anderson 
does dress well and his son John follows suit. John and his sister came 
over with their father. While Sherwood was still in Paris John the son 
was an awkward shy boy. The day after Sherwood left John turned up, 
sat easily on the arm of the sofa and was beautiful to look upon and he 


knew it. Nothing to the outward eye had changed but he had changed 
and he knew it. 

It was during this visit that Gertrude Stein and Sherwood Anderson 
had all those amusing conversations about Hemingway. They enjoyed 
each other thoroughly. They found out that they both had had and 
continued to have Grant as their great american hero. They did not care 
so much about Lincoln either of them. They had always and still liked 
Grant. They even planned collaborating on a life of Grant. Gertrude 
Stein still likes to think about this possibility. 

We did give a great many parties in those days and the Duchess of 
Clermont-Tonnerre came very often. 

She and Gertrude Stein pleasedone another. They were entirely dif- 
ferent in life education and interests but they delighted in each other's 
understanding. They were also the only two women whom they met 
who still had long hair. Gertrude Stein had always worn hers well on 
top of her head, an ancient fashion that she had never changed. 

Madame de Clermont-Tonnerre came in very late to one of the 
parties, almost every one had gone, and her hair was cut. Do you like it, 
said Madame de Clermont-Tonnerre. I do, said Gertrude Stein. Well, said 
Madame de Clermont-Tonnerre, if you like it and my daughter likes it 
and she does like it I am satisfied. That night Gertrude Stein said to 
me, I guess I will have to too. Cut it off she said and I did. 

I was still cutting the next evening, I had been cutting a little more 
all day and by this time it was only a cap of hair when Sherwood Ander- 
son came in. Well, how do you like it, said I rather fearfully. I like it, 
he said, it makes her look like a monk. 

As I have said, Picasso seeing it, was for a moment angry and said, 
and my portrait, but very soon added, after all it is all there. 

We now had our country house, the one we had only seen across the 
valley and just before leaving we found the white poodle, Basket. He 
was a little puppy in a little neighbourhood dog-show and he had blue 
eyes, a pink nose and white hair and he jumped up into Gertrude Stein's 
arms. A new puppy and a new ford we went off to our new house and 
we were thoroughly pleased with all three. Basket although now he is 
a large unwieldy poodle, still will get up on Gertrude Stein's lap and stay 
there. She says that listening to the rhythm of his water drinking made 
her recognise the difference between sentences and paragraphs, that para- 
graphs are emotional and that sentences are not. 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 205 

Bernard Fay came and stayed with us that summer. Gertrude Stein 
and he talked out in the garden about everything, about life, and Amer- 
ica, and themselves and friendship. They then cemented the friendship 
that is one of the four permanent friendships of Gertrude Stein's life. 
He even tolerated Basket for Gertrude Stein's sake. Lately Picabia has 
given us a tiny mexican dog, we call Byron. Bernard Fay likes Byron for 
Byron's own sake. Gertrude Stein teases him and says naturally he likes 
Byron best because Byron is an american while just as naturally she likes 
Basket best because Basket is a frenchman. 

Bilignin brings me to a new old acquaintance. One day Gertrude Stein 
came home from a walk to the bank and bringing out a card from her 
pocket said, we are lunching to-morrow with the Bromfields. Way back 
in the Hemingway days Gertrude Stein had met Bromfield and his wife 
and then from time to time there had been a slight acquaintance, there 
had even been a slight acquaintance with Bromfield's sister, and now 
suddenly we were lunching with the Bromfields. Why, I asked, because 
answered Gertrude Stein quite radiant, he knows all about gardens. 

We lunched with the Bromfields and he does know all about gardens 
and all about flowers and all about soils. Gertrude Stein and he first liked 
each other as gardeners, then they liked each other as americans and then 
they liked each other as writers. Gertrude Stein says of him that he is 
as american as Janet Scudder, as american as a doughboy, but not as 

One day the Jolases brought Furman the publisher to the house. He 
as have been many publishers was enthusiastic and enthusiastic about 
The Making of Americans. But it is terribly long, it's a thousand pages, 
said Gertrude Stein. Well, can't it be cut down, he said to about four 
hundred. Yes, said Gertrude Stein, perhaps. Well cut it down and I will 
publish it, said Furman. 

Gertrude Stein thought about it and then did it. She spent a part of 
the summer over it and Bradley as well as she and myself thought it 

In the meantime Gertrude Stein had told Elliot Paul about the propo- 
sition. It's alright when he is over here, said Elliot Paul, but when he 
gets back the boys won't let him. Who the boys are I do not know but 
they certainly did not let him. Elliot Paul was right. In spite of the efforts 
of Robert Coates and Bradley nothing happened. 

In the meantime Gertrude Stein's reputation among the french 


writers and readers was steadily growing. The translation of the frag- 
ments of the Making of Americans, and of the Ten Portraits interested 
them. It was at this time that Bernard Fay wrote his article about her 
work printed in the Revue Europeenne. They also printed the only thing 
she has ever written in french a little film about the dog Basket. 

They were very interested in her later work as well as her earlier work. 
Marcel Brion wrote a serious criticism of her work in Echange, com- 
paring her work to Bach. Since then, in Les Nouvelles Litteraires, he has 
written of each of her books as they come out. He was particularly im- 
pressed by How To Write. 

About this time too Bernard Fay was translating a fragment of 
Melanctha from Three Lives for the volume of Ten American Novelists, 
this to be introduced by his article printed in the Revue Europeenne. 
He came to the house one afternoon and read his translation of 
Melanctha aloud to us. Madame de Clermont-Tonnerre was there and 
she was very impressed by his translation. 

One day not long after she asked to come to the house as she wished 
to talk to Gertrude Stein. She came and she said, the time has now come 
when you must be made known to a larger public. I myself believe in 
a larger public. Gertrude Stein too believes in a larger public but the way 
has always been barred. No, said Madame de Clermont-Tonnerre, the 
way can be opened. Let us think. 

She said it must come from the translation of a big book, an important 
book. Gertrude Stein suggested the Making of Americans and told her 
how it had been prepared for an American publisher to make about four 
hundred pages. That will do exactly, she said. And went away. 

Finally and not after much delay, Monsieur Bouteleau of Stock saw 
Gertrude Stein and he decided to publish the book. There was some diffi- 
culty about finding a translator, but finally that was arranged. Bernard 
Fay aided by the Baronne Seilliere undertook the translation, and it is this 
translation which is to appear this spring, and that this summer made 
Gertrude Stein say, I knew it was a wonderful book in english, but it is 
even, well, I cannot say almost really more wonderful but just as won- 
derful in french. 

Last autumn the day we came back to Paris from Bilignin I was as 
usual very busy with a number of things and Gertrude Stein went out 
to buy some nails at the bazaar of the rue de Rennes. There she met 

AFTER THE WAR-1919-1932 207 

Guevara, a Chilean painter and his wife. They are our neighbours, and 
they said, come to tea to-morrow. Gertrude Stein said, but we are just 
home, wait a bit. Do come, said Meraude Guevara. And then added, 
there will be some one there you will like to see. Who is it, said Gertrude 
Stein with a never failing curiosity. Sir Francis Rose, they said. Alright, 
we'll come, said Gertrude Stein. By this time she no longer objected 
to meeting Francis Rose. We met then and he of course immediately 
came back to the house with her. He was, as may be imagined, quite 
pink with emotion. And what, said he, did Picasso say when he saw my 
paintings. When he first saw them, Gertrude Stein answered, he said, 
at least they are less betes than the others. And since, he asked. And since 
he always goes into the corner and turns the canvas over to look at them 
but he says nothing. 

Since then we have seen a great deal of Francis Rose but Gertrude 
Stein has not lost interest in the pictures. He has this summer painted 
the house from across the valley where we first saw it and the waterfall 
celebrated in Lucy Church Amiably. He has also painted her portrait. 
He likes it and I like it but she is not sure whether she does, but as she 
has just said, perhaps she does. We had a pleasant time this summer, 
Bernard Fay and Francis Rose both charming guests. 

A young man who first made Gertrude Stein's acquaintance by writ- 
ing engaging letters from America is Paul Frederick Bowles. Gertrude 
Stein says of him that he is delightful and sensible in summer but neither 
delightful nor sensible in the winter. Aaron Copeland came to see us with 
Bowles in the summer and Gertrude Stein liked him immensely. Bowles 
told Gertrude Stein and it pleased her that Copeland said threateningly 
to him when as usual in the winter he was neither delightful nor sen- 
sible, if you do not work now when you are twenty when you are thirty, 
nobody will love you. 

For some time now many people, and publishers, have been asking 
Gertrude Stein to write her autobiography and she had always replied, 
not possibly. 

She began to tease me and say that I should write my autobiography. 
Just think, she would say, what a lot of money you would make. She 
then began to invent titles for my autobiography. My Life With The 
Great, Wives of Geniuses I Have Sat With, My Twenty-five Years With 
Gertrude Stein. 


Then she began to get serious and say, but really seriously you ought 
to write your autobiography. Finally I promised that if during the sum- 
mer I could find time I would write my autobiography. 

When Ford Madox Ford was editing the Transatlantic Review he 
once said to Gertrude Stein, I am a pretty good writer and a pretty good 
editor and a pretty good business man but I find it very difficult to be 
all three at once. 

I am a pretty good housekeeper and a pretty good gardener and a 
pretty good needlewoman and a pretty good secretary and a pretty good 
editor and a pretty good vet for dogs and I have to do them all at once 
and I found it difficult to add being a pretty good author. 

About six weeks ago Gertrude Stein said, it^does not look to me as if 
you were ever going to write that autobiography. You know what I am 
going to do. I am going to write it for you, I am going to write it as 
simply as Defoe did the autobiography of Robinson Crusoe. And she 
has and this is it. 


The Making of Americans 

This is one of the LECTURES IN AMERICA delivered by Miss Stein dur- 
ing the season 1934-35 an ^ published by Random House in 79^5. The 
quotations from THE MAKING OF AMERICANS in the text are from the 
abbreviated Harcourt, Brace and Co. edition. . 

I am going to read what I have written to read, because in a general way 
it is easier even if it is not better and in a general way it is better even if 
it is not easier to read what has been written than to say what has not 
been written. Any way that is one way to feel about it. 

And I want to tell you about the gradual way of making The Making 
of Americans. I made it gradually and it took me almost three years to 
make it, but that is not what I mean by gradual. What I mean by 
gradual is the way the preparation was made inside of me. Although 
as I tell it it will sound historical, it really is not historical as I still very 
much remember it. I do remember it. That is I can remember it. And 
if you can remember, it may be history but it is not historical. 

To begin with, I seem always to be doing the talking when I am 
anywhere but in spite of that I do listen. I always listen. I always have 
listened. I always have listened to the way everybody has to tell what they 
have to say. In other words I always have listened in my way of listening 
until they have told me and told me until I really know it, that is know 
what they are. 

I always as I admit seem to be talking but talking can be a way of 
listening that is if one has the profound need of hearing and seeing what 
every one is telling. 

And I began very early in life to talk all the time and to listen all the 
time. At least that is the way I feel about it. 

I cannot remember not talking all the time and all the same feeling 
that while I was talking while I was seeing that I was not only hearing 
but seeing while I was talking and that at the same time the relation 
between myself knowing I was talking and those to whom I was talk- 
ing and incidentally to whom I was listening were coming to tell me 
and tell me in their way everything that made them. 

Those of you who have read The Making of Americans I think will 
very certainly understand. 



When I was young and I am talking of a period even before I went 
to college part of this talking consisted in a desire not only to hear what 
each one was saying in every way everybody has of saying it but also 
then of helping to change them and to help them change themselves. 

I was very full of convictions in those days and I at that time thought 
that the passion I had for finding out by talking and listening just how 
everybody was always telling everything that was inside them that made 
them that one, that this passion for knowing the basis of existence in 
each one was in me to help them change themselves to become what they 
should become. The changing should of course be dependent upon my 
ideas and theirs theirs as much as mine at that time. 

And so in those early days I wanted to know what was inside each 
one which made them that one and I was deeply convinced that I needed 
this to help them change something. 

Then I went to college and there for a little while I was tremendously 
occupied with finding out what was inside myself to make me what I 
was. I think that does happen to one at that time. It had been happening 
before going to college but going to college made it more lively. And 
being so occupied with what made me myself inside me, made me per- 
haps not stop talking but for awhile it made me stop listening. 

At any rate that is the way it seems to me now looking back at it. 

While I was at college and doing philosophy and psychology I became 
more and more interested in my own mental and physical processes 
and less in that of others and all I then was learning of what made 
people what they were came to me by experience and not by talking and 

Then as I say I became more interested in psychology, and one of the 
things I did was testing reactions of the average college student in a 
state of normal activity and in the state of fatigue induced by their ex- 
aminations. I was supposed to be interested in their reactions but soon 
I found that I was not but instead that I was enormously interested in 
the types of their characters that is what I even then thought of as the 
bottom nature of them, and when in May 1898 I wrote my half of the 
report of these experiments I expressed these results as follows : 

In these descriptions it will be readily observed that habits of atten- 
tion are reflexes of the complete character of the individual. 

Then that was over and I went to the medical school where I was 


bored and where once more myself and my experiences were more ac- 
tively interesting me than the life inside of others. 

But then after that once more I began to listen, I had left the medical 
school and I had for the moment nothing to do but talk and look and 
listen, and I did this tremendously. 

I then began again to think about the bottom nature in people, I began 
to get enormously interested in hearing how everybody said the same 
thing over and over again with infinite variations but over and over again 
until finally if you listened with great intensity you could hear it rise 
and fall and tell all that that there was inside them, not so much by the 
actual words they said or the thoughts they had but the movement of 
their thoughts and words endlessly the same and endlessly different. 

Many things then come out in the repeating that make a history 
of each one for any one who always listens to them. Many things 
come out of each one and as one listens to them listens to all the 
repeating in them, always this comes to be clear about them, the 
history of them of the bottom nature in them, the nature or na- 
tures mixed up in them to make the whole of them in anyway it 
mixes up in them. Sometimes then there will be a history of every 

When you come to feel the whole of anyone from the beginning 
to the ending, all the kind of repeating there is in them, the dif- 
ferent ways at different times repeating comes out of them, all the 
kinds of things and mixtures in each one, anyone can see then by 
looking hard at any one living near them that a history of every 
one must be a long one. A history of any one must be a long one, 
slowly it comes out from them from their beginning to their end- 
ing, slowly you can see it in them the nature and the mixtures in 
them, slowly everything comes out from each one in the kind of 
repeating each one does in the different parts and kinds of living 
they have in them, slowly then the history of them comes out from 
them, slowly then any one who looks well at any one will have the 
history of the whole of that one. Slowly the history of each one comes 
out of each one. Sometimes then there will be a history of every 
one. Mostly every history will be a long one. Slowly it comes out 
of each one, slowly any one who looks at them gets the history of 


each part of the living of any one in the history of the whole of 
each one that sometime there will be of every one.* 

Repeating then is in every one, in every one their being and their 
feeling and their way of realizing everything and every one comes 
out of them in repeating. More and more then every one comes to 
be clear to some one. 

Slowly every one in continuous repeating, to their minutest varia- 
tion, comes to be clearer to some one. Every one who ever was or 
is or will be living sometimes will be clearly realized by some one. 
Sometime there will be an ordered history of every one. Slowly 
every kind of one comes into ordered recognition. More and more 
then it is wonderful in living the subtle variations coming clear 
into ordered recognition, coming to make every one a part of some 
kind of them, some kind of men and women. Repeating then is in 
every one, every one then comes sometimes to be clearer to some one, 
sometime there will be then an orderly history of every one who ever 
was or is or will be living.f 

Then I became very interested in resemblances, in resemblances and 
slight differences between people. I began to make charts of all the people 
I had ever known or seen, or met or remembered. 

Every one is always busy with it, no one of them then ever want 
to know it that every one looks like some one else and they see it 
mostly every one dislikes to hear it. It is very important to me to al- 
ways know it, to always see it which one looks like others and to 
tell it. The Making of Americans, page 211. I write for myself 
and strangers, I do this for my own sake and for the sake of those 
who know I know it that they look like other ones, that they are 
separate and yet always repeated. There are some who like it that 
I know they are like many others and repeat it, there are many who 
never can really like it. 

Every one is one inside them, every one reminds some one of 
some other one who is or was or will be living. Every one has it to 
say of each one he is like such a one I see it in him, every one has it 
to say of each one she is like some one else I can tell by remember- 

* The Making of Americans (Harcourt, Brace & Co.), Page 128. 
t The Making of Americans. 


ing. So it goes on always in living, every one is always remembering 
some one who is resembling to the one at whom they are then look- 
ing. So they go on repeating, every one is themselves inside them 
and every one is resembling to others and that is always interesting.* 

I began to see that as I saw when I saw so many students at college 
that all this was gradually taking form. I began to get very excited about 
it. I began to be sure that if I could only go on long enough and talk 
and hear and look and see and feel enough and long enough I could 
finally describe really describe every kind of human being that ever was 
or is or would be living. 

I got very wrapped up in all this. And I began writing The Making 
of Americans. 

Let me read you some passages to show you how passionately and how 
desperately I felt about all this. 

I am altogether a discouraged one. I am just now altogether a 
discouraged one. I am going on describing men and women.* 

I have been very glad to have been wrong. It is sometimes a very 
hard thing to win myself to having been wrong about something. 
I do a great deal of suffering.! 

I was sure that in a kind of a way the enigma of the universe could 
in this way be solved. That after all description is explanation, and if 
I went on and on and on enough I could describe every individual 
human being that could possibly exist. I did proceed to do as much as I 

Some time then there will be every kind of a history of every 
one who ever can or is or was or will be living. Some time then 
there will be a history of every one from their beginning to their 
ending. Sometime then there will be a history of all of them, of 
every kind of them, of every one, of every bit of living they ever 
have in them, of them when there is never more than a beginning 
to them, of every kind of them, of every one when there is very little 

* The Making of Americans, Page 212. 

* The Malting of Americans, Page 308. 
t The Making of Americans, Page 310. 


beginning and then there is an ending, there will then sometime be 
a history of every one there will be a history of everything that ever 
was or is or will be them, of everything that was or is or will be all 
of any one or all of all of them. Sometime then there will be a history 
of every one, of everything or anything that is all them or any part 
of them and sometime then there will be a history of how anything 
or everything comes out from every one, comes out from every one 
or any one from the beginning to the ending of the being in them. 
Sometime then there must be a history of every one who ever was 
or is or will be living. As one sees every one in their living, in their 
loving, sitting, eating, drinking, sleeping, walking, working, think- 
ing, laughing, as any one sees all of them from their beginning to 
their ending, sees them when they are little babies or children or 
young grown men and women or growing older men and women 
or old men and women then one knows it in them that sometime 
there will be a history of all of them, that sometime all of them will 
have the last touch of being, a history of them can give to them, 
sometime then there will be a history of each one, of all the kinds of 
them, of all the ways any one can know them, of all the ways each 
one is inside her or inside him, of all the ways anything of them 
comes out from them. Sometime then there will be a history of every 
one and so then every one will have in them the last touch of being a 
history of any one can give to them.* 

This is then a beginning of the way of knowing everything in 
every one, of knowing the complete history of each one who ever 
is or was or will be living. This is then a little description of the 
winning of so much wisdom.f 

Of course all the time things were happening that is in respect to my 
hearing and seeing and feeling. I found that as often as I thought and 
had every reason to be certain that I had included everything in my 
knowledge of any one something else would turn up that had to be in- 
cluded. I did not with this get at all discouraged I only became more 
and more interested. And I may say that I am still more and more inter- 
ested I find as many things to be added now as ever and that does make 
it eternally interesting. So I found myself getting deeper and deeper into 

* The Making of Americans, Page 124. 
t The Making of Americans, Page 217. 


the idea of describing really describing every individual that could exist. 

While I was doing all this all unconsciously at the same time a mat- 
ter of tenses and sentences came to fascinate me. 

While I was listening and hearing and feeling the rhythm of each 
human being I gradually began to feel the difficulty of putting it down. 
Types of people I could put down but a whole human being felt at one 
and the same time, in other words while in the act of feeling that person 
was very difficult to put into words. 

And so about the middle of The Making of Americans I became very 
consciously obsessed by this very definite problem. 

It happens very often that a man has it in him, that a man does 
something, that he does it very often that he does many things, 
when he is a young man when he is an old man, when he is an 
older man. One of such of these kind of them had a little boy and 
this one, the little son wanted to make a collection of butterflies and 
beetles and it was all exciting to him and it was all arranged then 
and then the father said to the son you are certain this is not a cruel 
thing that you are wanting to be doing, killing things to make col- 
lections of them, and the son was very disturbed then and they talked 
about it together the two of them and more and more they talked 
about it then and then at last the boy was convinced it was a cruel 
thing and he said he would not do it and his father said the little 
boy was a noble boy to give up pleasure when it was a cruel one. 
The boy went to bed then and then the father when he got up in 
the early morning saw a wonderfully beautiful moth in the room 
an<J he caught him and he killed him and he pinned him and he 
woke up his son then and showed it to him and he said to him see 
what a good father I am to have caught and Hlled this one, the boy 
was all mixed up inside him and then he said lie would go on with 
his collecting and that was all there was then of discussing and this 
is a little description of something that happened once and it is very 

And this brings us to the question of grammar. So let me talk a little 
about that. 

You know by this time that although I do listen I do see I do hear 
I do feel that I do talk. 

* The Malting of Americans, Page 284. 


English grammar is interesting because it is so simple. Once you 
really know how to diagram a sentence really know it, you know prac- 
tically all you have to know about English grammar. In short any child 
thirteen years old properly taught can by that time have learned every- 
thing there is to learn about English grammar. So why make a fuss 
about it. However one does. 

It is this that makes the English language such a vital language that 
the grammar of it is so simple and that one does make a fuss about it. 

When I was up against the difficulty of putting down the complete 
conception that I had of an individual, the complete rhythm of a per- 
sonality that I had gradually acquired by listening seeing feeling and 
experience, I was faced by the trouble that I had acquired all this knowl- 
edge gradually but when I had it I had it completely at one time. Now 
that may never have been a trouble to you but it was a terrible trouble 
to me. And a great deal of The Making of Americans was a struggle 
to do this thing, to make a whole present of something that it had taken 
a great deal of time to find out, but it was a whole there then within 
me and as such it had to be said. 

That then and ever since has been a great deal of my work and it is 
that which has made me try so many ways to tell my story. 

In The Making of Americans I tried it in a variety of ways. And my 
sentences grew longer and longer, my imaginary dependent clauses were 
constantly being dropped out, I struggled with relations between they 
them and then, I began with a relation between tenses that sometimes 
almost seemed to do it. And I went on and on and then one day after 
I had written a thousand pages, this was in 1908 I just did not go on 
any more. % 

I did however immediately begin again. I began A Long Gay Book, 
that was going to be even longer than The Making of Americans and 
was going to be even more complicated, but then something happened 
in me and I said in Composition As Explanation, so then naturally it 
was natural that one thing an enormously long thing was not every- 
thing an enormously short thing was also not everything nor was it all 
of it a continuous present thing nor was it always and always beginning 

And so this is The Making of Americans. A book one thousand pages 
long, and I worked over it three years, and I hope this makes it a little 
more understandable to you. 


As I say I began A Long Gay Book and it was to be even longer than 
The Making of Americans and it was to describe not only every pos- 
sible kind of a human being, but every possible kind of pairs of human 
beings and every possible threes and fours and fives of human beings 
and every possible kind of crowds of human beings. And I was going 
to do it as A Long Gay Book and at the same time I began several 
shorter books which were to illustrate the Long Gay Book, one called 
Many Many Women another Five, another Two and another G. M. P., 
Matisse Picasso and Gertrude Stein, but the chief book was to be the 
Long Gay Book and that was in a kind of way to go on and to keep 
going on and to go on before and it began in this way. 

When they are very little just only a baby you can never tell 
which one is to be a lady. 

There are some when they feel it inside them that it has been with 
them that there was once so very little of them, that they were a 
baby, helpless and no conscious feeling in them, that they knew 
nothing then when they were kissed and dandled and fixed by 
others who knew them when they could know nothing inside them 
or around them, some get from all this that once surely happened 
to them to that which was then every bit that was then them, there 
are some when they feel it later inside them that they were such 
once and that was all that there was then of them, there are some 
who have from such a knowing an uncertain curious kind of feeling 
in them that their having been so little once and knowing nothing 
makes it all a broken world for them that they have inside them, 
kills for them the everlasting feeling: and they spend their life in 
many ways, and always they are trying to make for themselves a 
new everlasting feeling. 

One way perhaps of winning is to make a little one to come 
through them, little like the baby that once was all them and lost 
them their everlasting feeling. Some can win from just the feeling, 
the little one need not come, to give it to them. 

And so always there is beginning and to some then a losing of 
the everlasting feeling. Then they make a baby to make for them- 
selves a new beginning and so win for themselves a new everlasting 

* A Long Gay Book. (Plain Edition), Random House, Page 13. 


I knew while I was writing The Making of Americans that it was 
possible to describe every kind there is of men and women. 

I began to wonder if it was possible to describe the way every possible 
kind of human being acted and felt in relation with any other kind of 
human being and I thought if this could be done it would make A Long 
Gay Book. It is naturally gayer describing what any one feels acts and 
does in relation to any other one than to describe what they just are 
what they are inside them. 

And as I naturally found it livelier, I myself was becoming livelier 
just then. One does you know, when one has come to the conclusion 
that what is inside every one is not all there is of any one. I was, there 
is no doubt about it, I was coming to be livelier in relation to myself 
inside me and in relation to any one inside in them. This being livelier 
inside me kept on increasing and so you see it was a natural thing that 
as the Long Gay Book began, it did not go on. If it were to be really 
lively would it go on. Does one if one is really lively and I was really 
very lively then does one go on and does one if one is really very lively 
does one content oneself with describing what is going on inside in one 
and going on inside in every one in any one. 

At any rate what happened is this and every one reading these things, 
A Long Gay Book, Many Many Women and G. M. P. will see, that it 
changed, it kept on changing, until at last it led to something entirely 
different something very short and lively to the Portrait of Mabel Dodge 
and the little book called Tender Buttons but all that I will talk about 
later. To go back to The Making of Americans and A Long Gay Book. 

One must not forget that although life seems long it is very short, 
that although civilization seems long it is not so very long. If you think 
about how many generations, granting that your grandfather to you 
make a hundred years, if you think about that, it is extraordinary how 
very short is the history of the world in which we live, the world which 
is the world where there is a world for us. It is like the generations in 
the Bible, they really do not take so very long. Now when you are be- 
ginning realizing everything, this is a thing that is not confusing but is 
a thing that as you might say is at one time very long and at the same 
time not at all long. Twenty-five years roll around so quickly and in 
writing they can do one of two things, they can either roll around more 
or they can roll around less quickly. 


In writing The Making of Americans they rolled around less quickly. 
In writing A Long Gay Book, they did not roll around at all, and there- 
fore it did not go on it led to Tender Buttons and many other things. 
It may even have led to war but that is of no importance. 

The Making of Americans rolled around very slowly, it was only 
three years but they rolled around slowly and that is inevitable when 
one conceives everything as being there inside in one. Of course every- 
thing is always inside in one, that anybody knows but the kind of a one 
that one is is all inside in one or it is partly not all inside in one. When 
one is beginning to know everything, and that happens as it does hap- 
pen, you all know that, when one is beginning to know everything 
inside in one description strengthens it being all inside in one. That was 
for me the whole of The Making of Americans, it was the strengthen- 
ing the prolonging of the existing of everything being inside in one. 
You may call that being younger you may not just as you feel about it 
but what is important about it is, that if everything is all inside in one 
then it takes longer to know it than when it is not so completely inside 
in one. 

Therefore it takes longer to know everything when everything is all 
inside one than when it is not. Call it being young if you like, or call it 
not including anything that is not everything. It does not make any 
difference whether you are young or younger or older or very much 
older. That does not make any difference because after all as I say 
civilization is not very old if you think about it by hundreds of years and 
realize that your grandfather to you can very much more than make a 
hundred years if it happens right. 

And so I say and I saw that a complete description of every kind of 
human being that ever could or would be living is not such a very 
extensive thing because after all it can be all contained inside in any one 
and finally it can be done. 

So then in writing The Making of Americans it was to me an enor- 
mously long thing to do to describe every one and slowly it was not an 
enormously long thing to do to describe every one. Because after all as 
I say civilization is not a very long thing, twenty-five years roll around 
so quickly and four times twenty-five years make a hundred years and 
that makes a grandfather to a granddaughter. Everybody is interested 
when that happens to any one, because it makes it long and it makes it 


short. And so and this is the thing that made the change a necessary 
change from The Making of Americans to A Long Gay Book and then 
to Tender Buttons. 

* I will read you some few little things that will show this thing. A few 
things out of A Long Gay Book that show how it changed, changed 
from Making of Americans to Tender Buttons. 

It is a simple thing to be quite certain that there are kinds in men 
and women. It is a simple thing and then not any one has any worry- 
ing to be doing about any one being any one. It is a simple thing to 
be quite certain that each one is one being a kind of them and in 
being that kind of a one is one being, doing, thmking, feeling, re- 
membering and forgetting, loving, disliking, being angry, laughing, 
eating, drinking, talking, sleeping, waking like all of them of that 
kind of them. There are enough kinds in men and women so that 
any one can be interested in that thing that there are kinds in men 
and women.* 

Vrais says good good, excellent. Vrais listens and when he listens 
he says good good, excellent. Vrais listens and he being Vrais when 
he has listened he says good good, excellent. 

Vrais listens, he being Vrais, he listens. 

Anything is two things. Vrais was nicely faithful. He had been 
nicely faithful. Anything is two things. 

He had been nicely faithful. In being one he was one who had he 
been one continuing would not have been one continuing being 
nicely faithful. He was one continuing, he was not continuing to be 
nicely faithful. In continuing he was being one being the one who 
was saying good good, excellent but in continuing he was needing 
that he was believing that he was aspiring to be one continuing to 
be able to be saying good good, excellent. He had been one saying 
good good, excellent. He had been that one.* 

If the accumulation of inexpediency produces the withdrawing of 
the afternoon greeting then in the evening there is more preparation 
and this will take away the paper that has been lying where it could 
be seen. All the way that has the aging of a younger generation is 
part of the way that resembles anything that is not disappearing. 

* A Long Gay Book. Page 23. 
*A Long Gay Book p a#e 53. 


It is not alright as colors are existing in being accommodating. They 
have a way that is identical/}" 

Pardon the fretful autocrat who voices discontent. Pardon the col- 
ored water-color which is burnt. Pardon the intoning of the heavy 
way. Pardon the aristocrat who has not come to stay. Pardon the 
abuse which was begun. Pardon the yellow egg which has run. 
Pardon nothing yet, pardon what is wet, forget the opening now, 
and close the door again.$ 

A private life is the long thick tree and the private life is the life 
for me. A tree which is thick is a tree which is thick. A life which is 
private is not what there is. All the times that come are the times I 
sing, all the singing I sing are the tunes I sing. I sing and I sing 
and the tunes I sing are what are tunes if they come and I sing. I sing 
I sing.* 

Suppose it did, suppose it did with a sheet and a shadow and a 
silver set of water, suppose it did.f 

When I was working with William James I completely learned one 
thing, that science is continuously busy with the complete description 
of something, with ultimately the complete description of anything with 
ultimately the complete description of everything. If this can really be 
done the complete description of everything then what else is there to 
do. We may well say nothing, but and this is the thing that makes every- 
thing continue to be anything, that after all what does happen is that 
as relatively few people spend all their time describing anything and 
they stop and so in the meantime as everything goes on somebody else 
can always commence and go on. And so description is really unending. 
When I began The Making of Americans I knew I really did know 
that a complete description was a possible thing, and certainly a com- 
plete description is a possible thing. But as it is a possible thing one can 
stop continuing to describe this everything. That is where philosophy 
comes in, it begins when one stops continuing describing everything. 

And so this was the history of the writing of The Making of Amer- 
icans and why I began A Long Gay Book. I said I would go on describ- 

t A Long Gay Bool{ Page 86. 

%A Long Gay Book, Page 100. 

* A Long Gay Bool{ Page 107. 

^ A Long Gay Book, Page 114. 


ing everything in A Long Gay Book, but as inevitably indeed really 
one does stop describing everything being at last really convinced that a 
description of everything is possible it was inevitable that I gradually 
stopped describing everything in A Long Gay Book. 

Nevertheless it would be nice to really have described every kind there 
is of men and women, and it really would not be very hard to do but it 
would inevitably not be a Long Gay Book, but it would be a Making of 

But I do not want to begin again or go on with what was begun 
because after all I know I really do know that it can be done and if it 
can be done why do it, particularly as I say one does know that civiliza- 
tion has after all not existed such a very long time if you count it by a 
hundred years, and each time there has been civilization it has not 
lasted such a long time if you count it by a hundred years, which makes 
a period that can connect you with some other one. 

I hope you like what I say. 

And so The Making of Americans has been done. It must be remem- 
bered that whether they are Chinamen or Americans there are the 
same kinds in men and women and one can describe all the kinds of 
them. This I might have done. 

And so then I began The Long Gay Book. As soon as I began the 
Long Gay Book I knew inevitably it would not go on to continue what 
The Making of Americans had begun. And why not. Because as my 
life was my life inside me but I was realizing beginning realizing that 
everything described would not do any more than tell all I knew about 
anything why should I tell all I knew about anything since after all I 
did know all I knew about anything. 

So then I said I would begin again. I would not know what I knew 
about everything what I knew about anything. 

And so the Long Gay Book little by little changed from a description 
of any one of any one and everything there there was to be known about 
any one, to what if not was not not to be not known about any one 
about anything. And so it was necessary to let come what would happen 
to come because after all knowledge is what you know but what is 
happening is inevitably what is happening to come. 

And so this brings us to other things. 

In describing English literature I have explained that the twentieth 
century was the century not of sentences as was the eighteenth not of 


phrases as was the nineteenth but of paragraphs. And as I explained 
paragraphs were inevitable because as the nineteenth century came to 
its ending, phrases were no longer full of any meaning and the time had 
come when a whole thing was all there was of anything. Series immedi- 
ately before and after made everybody clearly understand this thing. 
And so it was natural that in writing The Making of Americans I had 
proceeded to enlarge my paragraphs so as to include everything. What 
else could I do. In fact inevitably I made my sentences and my para- 
graphs do the same thing, made them be one and the same thing. This 
was inevitably because the nineteenth century having lived by phrases 
really had lost the feeling of sentences, and before this in English litera- 
ture paragraphs had never been an end in themselves and now in the 
beginning of the twentieth century a whole thing, being what was as- 
sembled from its parts was a whole thing and so it was a paragraph. 
You will see that in The Making of Americans I did this thing, I made 
a paragraph so much a whole thing that it included in itself as a whole 
thing a whole sentence. That makes something clear to you does it not. 

And this is what The Making of Americans was. Slowly it was not 
enough to satisfy myself with a whole thing as a paragraph as a whole 
thing and I will tell very much more about how that came about but 
The Making of Americans really carried it as far as it could be carried 
so I think the making a whole paragraph a whole thing. 

Then at the same time is the question of time. The assembling of a 
thing to make a whole thing and each one of these whole things is one 
of a series, but beside this there is the important thing and the very 
American thing that everybody knows who is an American just how 
many seconds minutes or hours it is going to take to do a whole thing. 
It is singularly a sense for combination within a conception of the 
existence of a given space of time that makes the American thing the 
American thing, and the sense of this space of time must be within the 
whole thing as well as in the completed whole thing. 

I felt this thing, I am an American and I felt this thing, and I made 
a continuous effort to create this thing in every paragraph that I made 
in The Making of Americans. And that is why after all this book is 
an American book an essentially American book, because this thing is 
ai> essentially American thing this sense of a space of time and what is 
to be done within this space of time not in any way excepting in the 
way that it is inevitable that there is this space of time and anybody who 


is an American feels what is inside this space of time and so well they 
do what they do within this space of time, and so ultimately it is a thing 
contained within. I wonder if I at all convey to you what I mean by this 
thing. I will try to tell it in every way I can as I have in all the writing 
that I have ever done. I am always trying to tell this thing that a space 
of time is a natural thing for an American to always have inside them 
as something in which they are continuously moving. Think of any- 
thing, of cowboys, of movies, of detective stories, of anybody who goes 
anywhere or stays at home and is an American and you will realize that 
it is something strictly American to conceive a space that is filled with 
moving, a space of time that is filled always filled with moving and my 
first real effort to express this thing which is an American thing began 
in writing The Making of Americans. 

The Making of Americans 

Written in 190608, this huge volume, which in its entirety runs to 
nearly a thousand pages, was first published in 7925. It must be as long 
as CLARISSA HARLOWE which Miss Stein has described as the "greatest 
of all novels! 9 There have been several different editions and parts of 
the booJ^ have been translated and published in French. One of her 
avowed aims in writing this "history" and A LONG GAY BOOK which 
followed, was to describe every known type of human being, an ambi- 
tion she permitted to languish when she discovered it really would be 
possible for her to do it. Another aim, she asserts in NARRATION, was to 
escape from inevitably feeling that everything had meaning as begin- 
ning and middle and ending. In EVERYBODY'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY Gertrude 
Stein has written: ''We had a mother and a father and I tell all about 
that in THE MAKING OF AMERICANS which is a history of our family." 
The author entrusted the manuscript of this worf^, in seven or eight 
bound volumes, to her friend Mrs. Charles Knoblauch who brought it 
to America. Mrs. Knoblauch in turn brought it to me and it remained 
with me for several years, during which period I attempted with no 
success to awaken the interest of one publisher after another. In the 
actual eventual publication, alas, I was not involved. 

Once an angry man dragged his father along the ground through his 
own orchard. "Stop!" cried the groaning old man at last, "Stop! I did 
not drag my father beyond this tree." 

It is hard living down the tempers we are born with. We all begin 
well, for in our youth there is nothing we are more intolerant of than 
our own sins writ large in others and we fight them fiercely in our- 
selves; but we grow old and we see that these our sins are of all sins the 
really harmless ones to own, nay that they give a charm to any character, 
and so our struggle with them dies away. 

I am writing for myself and strangers. This is the only way that I can 
do it. Everybody is a real one to me, everybody is like some one else too 
to me. No one of them that I know can want to know it and so I write 
for myself and strangers. 

Every one is always busy with it, no one of them then ever want to 
know it that every one looks like some one else and they see it. Mostly 
every one dislikes to hear it. It is very important to me to always know 
it, to always see it which one looks like others and to tell it. I write for 
myself and strangers. I do this for my own sake and for the sake of 
those who know I know it that they look like other ones, that they are 
separate and yet always repeated. There are some who like it that I 
know they are like many others and repeat it, there are many who never 
can really like it. 

There are many that I know and they know it. They are all of them 



repeating and I hear it. I love it and I tell it, I love it and now I will 
write it. This is now the history of the way some of them are it. 

I write for myself and strangers. No one who knows me can like it. 
At least they mostly do not like it that every one is of a kind of men and 
women and I see it. I love it and I write it. 

I want readers so strangers must do it. Mostly no one knowing me can 
like it that I love it that every one is of a kind of men and women, that 
always I am looking and comparing and classifying of them, always I 
am seeing their repeating. Always more and more I love repeating, it 
may be irritating to hear from them but always more and more I love it 
of them. More and more I love it of them, the being in them, the mix- 
ing in them, the repeating in them, the deciding the kind of them every 
one is who has human being. 

This is now a little of what I love and how I write it. Later there will 
be much more of it. 

There are many ways of making kinds of men and women. Now 
there will be descriptions of every kind of way every one can be a kind 
of men and women. 

This is now a history of Martha Hersland. This is now a history of 
Martha and of every one who came to be of her living. 

There will then be soon much description of every way one can think 
of men and women, in their beginning, in their middle living, and their 

Every one then is an individual being. Every one then is like many 
others always living, there are many ways of thinking of every one, this 
is now a description of all of them. There must then be a whole history 
of each one of them. There must then now be a description of all repeat- 
ing. Now I will tell all the meaning to me in repeating, the loving there 
is in me for repeating. 

Every one is one inside them, every one reminds some one of some 
other one who is or was or will be living. Every one has it to say of each 
one he is like such a one I see it in him, every one has it to say of each 
one she is like some one else I can tell by remembering. So it goes on 
always in living, every one is always remembering some one who is re- 
sembling to the one at whom they are then looking. So they go on re- 
peating, every one is themselves inside them and every one is resembling 
to others, and that is always interesting. There are many ways of mak- 
ing kinds of men and women. In each way of making kinds of them 


there is a different system of finding them resembling. Sometime there 
will be here every way there can be of seeing kinds of men and women. 
Sometime there will be then a complete history of each one. Every one 
always is repeating the whole of them and so sometime some one who 
sees'them will have a complete history of every one. Sometime some one 
will know all the ways there are for people to be resembling, some one 
sometime then will have a completed history of every one. 

Soon now there will be a history of the way repeating comes out of 
them comes out of men and women when they are young, when they 
are children, they have then their own system of being resembling; this 
will soon be a description of the men and women in beginning, the 
being young in them, the being children. 

There is then now and here the loving repetition, this is then, now 
and here, a description of the loving of repetition and then there will be 
a description of all the kinds of ways there can be seen to be kinds of 
men and women. Then there will be realised the complete history of 
every one, the fundamental character of every one, the bottom nature in 
them, the mixtures in them, the strength and weakness of everything 
they have inside them, the flavor of them, the meaning in them, the 
being in them, and then you have a whole history then of each one. 
Everything then they do in living is clear to the completed understand- 
ing, their living, loving, eating, pleasing, smoking, thinking, scolding, 
drinking, working, dancing, walking, talking, laughing, sleeping, every- 
thing in them. There are whole beings then, they are themselves inside 
them, repeating coining out of them makes a history of each one of them. 

Always from the beginning there was to me all living as repeating. 
This is now a description of my feeling. As I was saying listening to 
repeating is often irritating, always repeating is all of living, everything 
in a being is always repeating, more and more listening to repeating 
gives to me completed understanding. Each one slowly comes to be a 
whole one to me. Each one slowly comes to be a whole one in me. Soon 
then it commences to sound through my ears and eyes and feelings the 
repeating that is always coming out from each one, that is them, that 
makes then slowly of each one of them a whole one. Repeating then 
comes slowly then to be to one who has it to have loving repeating as 
natural being comes to be a full sound telling all the being in each one 
such a one is ever knowing. Sometimes it takes many years of knowing 
some one before the repeating that is that one gets to be a steady sound- 


ing to the hearing of one who has it as a natural being to love repeating 
that slowly comes out from every one. Sometimes it takes many years of 
knowing some one before the repeating in that one comes to be a clear 
history of such a one. Natures sometimes are so mixed up in some one 
that steady repeating in them is mix^ed up with changing. Soon then 
there will be a completed history of each one. Sometimes it is difficult to 
know it in some, for what these are saying is repeating in them is not the 
real repeating of them, is not the complete repeating for them. Sometimes 
many years of knowing some one pass before repeating of all being in 
them comes out clearly from them. As I was saying it is often irritating 
to listen to the repeating they are doing, always then that one that has it 
as being to love repeating that is the whole history of each one, such a 
one has it then that this irritation passes over into patient completed 
understanding. Loving repeating is one way of being. This is now a de- 
scription of such feeling. 

There are many that I know and they know it. They are all of them 
repeating and I hear it. I love it and I tell it. I love it and now I will 
write it. This is now a history of my love of it. I hear it and I love it 
and I write it. They repeat it. They live it and I see it and I hear it. 
They live it and I hear it and I see it and I love it and now and always I 
will write it. There are many kinds of men and women and I know it. 
They repeat it and I hear it and I love it. This is now a history of the 
way they do it. This is now a history of the way I love it. 

Now I will tell of the meaning to me in repeating, of the loving there 
is in me for repeating. 

Sometime every one becomes a whole one to me. Sometime every 
one has a completed history for me. Slowly each one is a whole one to 
me, with some, all their living is passing before they are a whole one to 
me. There is a completed history of them to me then when there is of 
them a completed understanding of the bottom nature in them of the 
nature or natures mixed up in them with the bottom nature of them or 
separated in them. There is then a history of the things they say and do 
and feel, and happen to them. There is then a history of the living in 
them. Repeating is always in all of them. Repeating in them comes out 
of them, slowly making clear to any one that looks closely at them the 
nature and the natures mixed up in them. This sometime comes to be 
clear in every one. 

Often as I was saying repeating is very irritating to listen to from 


them and then slowly it settles into a completed history o them. Repeat- 
ing is a wonderful thing in living being. Sometime then the nature of 
every one comes to be clear to some one listening to the repeating com- 
ing out of each one. 

This is then now to be a little description of the loving feeling for 
understanding of the completed history of each one that comes to one 
who listens always steadily to all repeating. This is the history then of 
the loving feeling in me of repeating, the loving feeling in me for com- 
pleted understanding of the completed history of every one as it slowly 
comes out in every one as patiently and steadily I hear it and see it as 
repeating in them. This is now a little a description of this loving feel- 
ing. This is now a little a history of it from the beginning. 

Always then I listen and come back again and again to listen to every 
one. Always then I am thinking and feeling the repeating in every one. 
Sometime then there will be for me a completed history of every one. 
Every one is separate then and a kind of men and women. 

Sometime it takes many years of knowing some one before the repeat- 
ing in that one comes to be a clear history of such a one. Sometimes many 
years of knowing some one pass before repeating of all being in such a 
one comes out clearly from them, makes a completed understanding of 
them by some one listening, watching, hearing all the repeating coming 
out from such a one. 

As I was saying loving listening, hearing always all repeating, com- 
ing to completed understanding of each one is to some a natural way of 
being. This is now more description of the feeling such a one has in them, 
this is now more description of the way listening to repeating comes to 
make complete understanding. This is now more description of the 
way repeating slowly comes to make in each one a completed history of 

There are many that I know and always more and more I know it. 
They are all of them repeating and I hear it. More and more I under- 
stand it. Always more and more I hear it, always more and more it has 
completed history in it. 

Every one has their own being in them. Every one is of a kind of men 
and women. Many have mixed up in them some kind of many kinds 
of men and women. Slowly this comes clearly out from them in the 
repeating that is always in all living. Slowly it comes out from them to 
the most delicate gradation, to the gentlest flavor of them. Always it 


comes out as repeating from them. Always it comes out as repeating, out 
of them. Then to the complete understanding they keep on repeating 
this, the whole of them and any one seeing them then can understand 
them. This is a joy to any one loving repeating when in any one repeat- 
ing steadily tells over and over again the history of the complete being 
in them. This is a solid happy satisfaction to any one who has it in them 
to love repeating and completed understanding. 

As I was saying often for many years some one is baffling. The re- 
peated hearing of them does not make the completed being they have 
in them to any one. Sometimes many years pass in listening to repeating 
in such a one and the being of them is not a completed history to any 
one then listening to them. Sometimes then it comes out of them a 
louder repeating that before was not clear to anybody's hearing and then 
it is a completed being to some one listening to the repeating coming out 
of such a one. 

This is then now a description of loving repeating being in some. This 
is then now a description of loving repeating being in one. 

There are many that I know and they know it. They are all of them 
repeating and I hear it. More and more I understand it. I love it and I 
tell it. I love it and always I will tell it. They live it and I see it and 
I hear it. They repeat it and I hear it and I see it, sometimes then always I 
understand it, sometime then always there is a completed history of each 
one by it, sometime then I will tell the completed history of each one as 
by repeating I come to know it. 

Every one always is repeating the whole of them. Every one is repeat- 
ing the whole of them, such repeating is then always in them and so 
sometime some one who sees them will have a complete understanding 
of the whole of each one of them, will have a completed history of every 
man and every woman they ever come to know in their living, every 
man and eve^y woman who were or are or will be living whom such a 
one can come to know in living. 

This then is a history of many men and women, sometime there will 
be a history of every one. 

As I was saying every one always is repeating the whole of them. As 
I was saying sometimes it takes many years of hearing the repeating in 
one before the whole being is clear to the understanding of one who has 
it as a being to love repeating, to know that always every one is repeat- 
ing the whole of them. 


This is then the way such a one, one who has it as a being to love re- 
peating, to know that always every one is repeating the whole of them 
comes to a completed understanding of any one. This is now a descrip- 
tion of such a way of hearing repeating. 

Every one always is repeating the whole of them. Many always listen 
to all repeating that comes to them in their living. Some have it as being 
to love the repeating that is always in every one coming out from them 
as a whole of them. This is now a description of such a one and the com- 
pleted understanding of each one who is repeating in such a one's living. 

Every one always is repeating the whole of them. Always, one having 
loving repeating to getting completed understanding must have in them 
an open feeling, a sense for all the slightest variations in repeating, must 
never lose themselves so in the solid steadiness of all repeating that they 
do not hear the slightest variation. If they get deadened by the steady 
pounding of repeating they will not learn from each one even though 
each one always is repeating the whole of them they will not learn the 
completed history of them, they will not know the being really in them. 

As I was saying every one always is repeating the whole of them. As 
I was saying sometimes it takes many years of listening, seeing, living, 
feeling, loving the repeating there is in some before one comes to a 
completed understanding. This is now a description, of such a way of 
hearing, seeing, feeling, living, loving, repetition. 

Mostly every one loves some one's repeating. Mostly every one then, 
comes to know then the being of some one by loving the repeating in 
them, the repeating coming out of them. There are some who love every- 
body's repeating, this is now a description of such loving in one. 

Mostly every one loves some one's repeating. Every one always is re- 
peating the whole of them. This is now a history of getting completed 
understanding by loving repeating in every one the repeating that always 
is coming out of them as a complete history of them. This is now a 
description of learning to listen to all repeating that every one always is 
making of the whole of them. 

Now I will tell of the meaning to me in repeating, of the loving there 
is in me for repeating. 

Always from the beginning there was to me all living as repeating. 
This is now a description of loving repeating as a being. This is now a 
history of learning to listen to repeating to come to a completed under- 


To go on. now giving all of the description of how repeating comes to 
have meaning, how it forms itself, how one must distinguish the differ- 
ent meanings in repeating. Sometimes it is very hard to understand the 
meaning of repeating. Sometime there will be a complete history of 
some one having loving repeating as being, to a completed understand- 
ing. Now there will be a little description of such a one. 

Sometime then there will be a complete history of all repeating to com- 
pleted understanding. Sometime then there will be a complete history of 
every one who ever was or is or will be living. 

Sometime there will be a complete history of some one having loving 
repeating to a completed understanding as being. Sometime then there 
will be a complete history of many women and. many men. 

Now there is to be some description of some one having loving repeat- 
ing to a completed understanding as being. Then there will be a com- 
plete history of some. 

More and more then there will be a history of many men and many 
women from their beginning to their ending, as being babies and chil- 
dren and growing young men and growing young women and young 
grown men and young grown women and men and women in their 
middle living and growing old men and growing old women and old 
men and old women. 

More and more then there will be histories of all the kinds there are 
of men and women. 

This is now a little description of having loving repeating as being. 
This is now a little description of one having loving repeating as being. 

Loving repeating is one way of being. This is now a description of 
such being. Loving repeating is always in children. Loving repeating is 
in a way earth feeling. Some children have loving repeating for little 
things and story-telling, some have it as a more bottom being. Slowly 
this comes out in them in all their children being, in their eating, play- 
ing, crying, and laughing. Loving repeating is then in a way earth feel- 
ing. This is very strong in some. This is very strong in many, in children 
and in old age being. This is very strong in many in all ways of humorous 
being, this is very strong in some from their beginning to their ending. 
This is now some description of such being in one. 

As I was saying loving repeating being is in a way earthy being. In 
some it is repeating that gives to them always a solid feeling of being. 
In some children there is more feeling in repeating eating and playing, 


in some in story-telling and their feeling. More and more in living as 
growing young men and women and grown young men and women and 
men and women in their middle living, more and more there comes to 
be in them differences in loving repeating in different kinds of men and 
women, there comes to be in some more and in some less loving repeat- 
ing. Loving repeating in some is a going on always in them of earthy 
being, in some it is the way to completed understanding. Loving repeat- 
ing then in some is their natural way of complete being. This is now 
some description of one. 

There is then always repeating in all living. There is then in each 
one always repeating their whole being, the whole nature in them. Much 
loving repeating has to be in a being so that that one can listen to all the 
repeating in every one. Almost every one loves all repeating in some one. 
This is now some description of loving repeating, all repeating, in every 

To begin again with the children. To begin again with the repeating 
being in them. To begin again with the loving repeating being in them. 
As I was saying some children have it in them to love repeating in them 
of eating, of angry feeling in them, many of them have loving repeating 
for story-telling in them, many of them have loving repeating being 
in them for any kind of being funny, in making jokes or teasing, many 
of them having loving repeating being in them in all kinds of playing. 
Mostly every one when they are children, mostly every one has then lov- 
ing repeating being strongly in them, some have it more some have it 
less in them and this comes out more and more in them as they come to 
be young adolescents in their being and then grown young men and 
grown young women. 

To begin again then with children in their having loving repeating 
being. Mostly all children have loving repeating as being in them but 
some have it much more and some have it much less in them. Loving 
repeating being is more of that kind of being that has resisting as its 
natural way of fighting than of that kind of being that has attacking as 
its natural way of winning. But this is a very complicated question. I 
know very much about these ways of being in men and women. I know 
it and can say it, it is a very complex question and I do not know yet 
the whole of it, so I can not yet say all 1 4cnow of it. 

As I was saying all little children have in them mostly very much 
loving repeating being. As they grow into bigger children some have it 


more some have it less in them. Some have it in them more and more 
as a conscious feeling. Many of them do not have it in them more and 
more as a conscious feeling. Mostly when they are growing to be young 
men and women they have not it in them to have loving repeating being 
in them as a conscious feeling. 

Mostly every one has not it in them as a conscious feeling as a young 
grown man or young grown woman. Some have it in them, loving re- 
peating feeling as steadily developing, this is now a history of one. 

Many men and many women never have it in them the conscious 
feeling of loving repeating. Many men and many women never have 
it in them until old age weakening is in them, a consciousness of re- 
peating. Many have it in them all their living as a conscious feeling as a 
humorous way of being in them. Some have it in them, the conscious- 
ness of always repeating the whole of them as a serious obligation. There 
are many many ways then of having repeating as conscious feeling, of 
having loving repeating as a bottom being, of having loving repeating 
being as a conscious feeling. 

As I was saying mostly all children have in them loving repeating 
being as important in them to them and to every one around them. 
Mostly growing young men and growing young women have to them- 
selves very little loving repeating being, they do not have it to each other 
then most of them, they have it to older ones then as older ones have it 
to them loving repeating being, not loving repeating being but repeat- 
ing as the way of being in them, repeating of the whole of them as 
coming every minute from them. 

In the middle living of men and women there are very different ways 
of feeling to repeating, some have more and more in them loving re- 
peating as a conscious feeling, some have less and less liking in them 
for the repeating in, to them, of mostly every one. Mostly every one 
has a loving feeling for repeating in some one. Some have not any such 
loving even in the repeating going on inside themselves then, not even 
for any one they are loving. 

Some then have always growing in them more and more loving feel- 
ing for the repeating in every one. Many have not any loving for repeat- 
ing in many of those around them. 

There are then many ways of feeling in one about repeating. There 
are many ways of knowing repeating when one sees and hears and feels 
it in every one. 


Loving repeating then is important being in some. This is now some 
description of the importance of loving repeating being in one. 

Some find it interesting to find inside them repeating in them of some 
one they have known or some relation to them coming out in them, some 
never have any such feeling in them, some have not any liking for such 
being in them. Some like to see such being in others around them but 
not in themselves inside them. There are many ways of feeling in one 
about all these kinds of repeating. Sometime there will be written the 
history of all of them. 

To begin again then with some description of the meaning of loving 
repeating being when it is strongly in a man or in a woman, when it is 
in them their way of understanding everything in living and there are 
very many always living of such being. This is now again a beginning of 
a little description of it in one. 

Repeating of the whole of them is then always in every one. There 
are different stages in being, there is being babies and children and then 
growing young men or women and grown young men or women and 
men or women in middle living and in growing old and in ending. 
There are many kinds of men and women and soon now there will be a 
beginning of a history of all of them who ever were or are or will be 
living. There will be then here written a history of some of them. To 
begin again then with loving repeating being as a bottom nature in 
some. To begin again with the developing of it in one. 

As I was saying children have it in them to have strongly loving re- 
peating being as a conscious feeling in so far as they can be said to have 
such a thing in them. It gives to them a solid feeling of knowing they 
are safe in living. With growing it comes to be more in some, it comes 
to be less in others of them. Mostly there is very little conscious loving 
repeating feeling in growing young men and women. 

In the beginning then, in remembering, repeating was strongly in 
the feeling of one, in the feeling of many, in the feeling of most of them 
who have it to Jiave strongly in them their earthy feeling of being part 
of the solid dirt around them. This is one kind of being. This is mostly 
of one kind of being, of slow-minded resisting fighting being. This is 
now a little a description of one. 

Slowly then some go on living, they may be fairly quick in learning, 
some of such of them seem very quick and impetuous in learning and in 
acting but such learning has for such of them very little meaning, it is 


the slow repeating resisting inside them that has meaning for them. 
Now there will be a little a description of loving repeating being in one 
of such of them. 

The kinds and ways of repeating, of attacking and resisting in dif- 
ferent kinds of men and women, the practical, the emotional, the sensi- 
tive, the every kind of being in every one who ever was or is or will be 
living, I know so much about all of them, many of them are very clear 
in kinds of men and women, in individual men and women, I know 
them so well inside them, repeating in them has so much meaning to 
knowing, more and more I know all there is of all being, more and 
more I know it in all the ways it is in them and comes out of them, some- 
time there will be a history of every one, sometime all history of all men 
and women will be inside some one. 

Now there will be a little description of the coming to be history of 
all men and women, in some one. This is then to be a little history of 
such a one. This is then now to be a little description of loving repeating 
being in one. 

Almost every one has it in them in their beginning to have loving 
repeating being strongly in them. Some of them have attacking being 
as the bottom nature in them, some of them have resisting being as the 
bottom nature in them. Some of both these kinds of them have more 
or less in all their living loving repeating being in them, it works dif- 
ferently in them to come out of them in these two kinds of them. Later 
there will be much description of the way it comes out from them and is 
in them in the different kinds of them. Now there is to be a little descrip- 
tion of it in one having resisting as the way of winning fighting. This is 
now some description of such a one having loving repeating being de- 
veloping into completed understanding. Now to slowly begin. 

The relation of learning to being, of thinking to feeling, of realisation 
to emotion, all these and many others are very complicated questions. 
Sometimes there will be much description of them with the kinds of men 
and women with being in them, with mixtures in them, that complicates 
them. There will sometime be a history of every one. This is a sure thing. 

Now again to begin. The relation of learning and thinking to being, 
of feeling to realising is a complicated question. There will now be very 
little talking of such way of being. As I was saying some have it in them 
to have slowly resisting as their natural way of being can have learning 
and thinking come quickly enough in them. This is then not bottom 


being in them. It is bottom being in some of such of them. This is very 
clear now in my knowing. Now to begin again with it as telling. 

Some then who are of that kind of being who have slow resisting 
being as their way to wisdom have it in them to be quick in learning and 
in thinking and in acting. As I was saying in some this is not of the 
bottom nature in them, in some it is bottom nature in them for the slow 
resisting winning bottom to them was not put in in the making of them, 
in some it is in them but dull and not mixing in their living, in some it is 
not sensitive to action in their living, it is there in them going on inside 
them not connecting on with the rest of them. This is not just talking, 
this all has real meaning. These are all then of a kind of men and women 
who have resisting being as the real wisdom in them. In some of such of 
them they seem to be winning by acting by attacking they live so very 
successfully in living but nevertheless they are of the kind of them that 
have resisting winning as their real way of fighting although never in 
their living does this act in them. Careful listening to the whole of them 
always repeating shows this in them, what kind they are of men and 

To begin again. This is now some description of one having loving 
repeating as a way to wisdom, having slowly resisting winning as the 
bottom being. As I was saying learning in such a one and thinking about 
everything can be quick enough in the beginning. 

The important thing then in knowing the bottom nature in any one 
is the way their real being slowly comes to be them, the whole of them 
comes to be repeating in them. 

As I was saying some can have quick learning and nervous attacking 
or one or the other in them with slow resisting being in them as their 
natural way of winning. There is every kind of mixing. There is every 
degree of intensification. There is every degree of hastening the resist- 
ing into more rapid realisation. There is every degree of hurrying. In 
short there are all degrees of intensification and rapidity in motion and 
mixing and disguising and yet the kind he is each one, the kind she is 
each one, comes to be clear in the repeating that more and more steadily 
makes them clear to any one looking hard at them. These kinds then 
are existing, the independent dependent, the dependent independent, 
the one with attacking as the way of winning, the other with resisting 
as the way of wisdom for them. I know then this is true of every one that 
each one is of one or the other kind of these two kinds of them. I know 


it is in them, I know many more things about these two kinds of them. 
Slowly they come to be clearer in every one, sometime perhaps it will be 
clear to every one. Sometime perhaps some one will have completely 
in them the history of every one of everything in every one and the de- 
gree and kind and way of being of everything in each one in them from 
their beginning to their ending and coming out of them. 

This is then a beginning of the way of knowing everything in every 
one, of knowing the complete history of each one who ever is or was or 
will be living. This is then a little description of the winning of so much 

As I was saying the important thing is having loving repeating being, 
that is the beginning of learning the complete history of every one. That 
being must always be in such a one, one who has it in them sometime to 
have in them the completed history of every one they ever can hear of as 
having being. 

There are so many ways of beginning this description, and now once 
more to make a beginning. 

Always repeating is all of living, everything that is being is always 
repeating, more and more listening to repeating gives to me completed 
understanding. Each one then slowly comes to be a whole one to me, 
each one slowly comes to be a whole one in me, slowly it sounds louder 
and louder and louder inside me through my ears and eyes and feelings 
and the talking there is always in me the repeating that is the whole 
of each one I come to know around, and each one of them then comes 
to be a whole one to me, comes to be a whole one in me. Loving repeat- 
ing is one way of being. This is now a description of such being. 

Always from the beginning there was to me all living as repeating. 
This was not in me then a conscious being. Always more and more 
this is in me developing to a completed being. This is now again a begin- 
ning of a little description of such being. 

In their beginning as children every one has in them loving repeating 
being. This is for them then their natural being. Later in conscious being 
some have much in them of loving repeating being, some have in them 
almost nothing of such feeling. There are then these two kinds of them. 
This is then one way of thinking of them. 

There are two kinds of men and women, those who have in them 
resisting as their way of winning those who have in them attacking as 
their way of winning fighting, there are many kinds, many very many 


kinds of each of these two kinds of men and women, sometime there will 
be written a description of all the kinds of them. Now this division is 
accepted by me and I will now give a little more description of loving 
repeating being and then go on to describing how it comes to slowly give 
to me completed understanding, loving repeating being always in me 
acting, of this one and that one, and then there will be some description 
of resembling coming to be clear by looking at the repeating in men and 
women and then there will be more history of Martha Hersland and the 
being coming out of her all her living and the being in every one she 
came to know in living. 

Always then from the beginning there was in me always increasing 
as a conscious feeling loving repeating being, learning to know repeating 
in every one, hearing the whole being of any one always repeating in that 
one every minute of their living. There was then always in me as a 
bottom nature to me an earthy, resisting slow understanding, loving 
repeating being. As I was saying this has nothing to do with ordinary 
learning, in a way with ordinary living. This will be clearer later in this 

Many have loving repeating being in them, many never come to know 
it of them, many never have it as a conscious feeling, many have in it a 
restful satisfaction. Some have in it always more and more understand- 
ing, many have in it very little enlarging understanding. There is every 
kind of way of having loving repeating being as a bottom. It is very 
clear to me and to my feeling, it is very slow in developing, it is very 
important to make it clear now in writing, it must be done now with a 
slow description. To begin again then with it in my feeling, to begin 
again then to tell of the meaning to me in all repeating, of the loving 
there is in me for repeating. 

Sometime every one becomes a whole one to me. For many years this 
was just forming in me. Now sometimes it takes many years for some 
one to be a whole one to me. For many years loving repeating was a 
bottom to me, I was never thinking then of the meaning of it in me, it 
had nothing then much to do with the learning, the talking, the think- 
ing, nor the living then in me. There was for many years a learning and 
talking and questioning in me and not listening to repeating in every 
one around me. Then slowly loving repeating being came to be a con- 
scious feeling in me. Slowly then every cne sometime became a whole 
one to me. 


Now I will tell of the meaning in me of repeating, of the loving repeat- 
ing being there is now always in me. 

In loving repeating being then to completed understanding there 
must always be a feeling for all changing, a feeling for living being that 
is always in repeating. This is now again a beginning of a description of 
my feeling. 

Always then I am thinking and feeling the repeating in each one as 
I know them. Always then slowly each one comes to be a whole one to 
me. As I was saying loving repeating in every one, hearing always all 
repeating, coming to completed understanding of each one is to me a 
natural way of being. 

There are many that I know and always more and more I know it. 
They are all of them repeating and I hear it. They are all of them living 
and I know it. More and more I understand it, always more and more 
it has completed history in it. 

Every one has their own being in them. Every one is of a kind of men 
and women. Always more and more I know the whole history of each 
one. This is now a little a description of such knowing in me. This is now 
a little a description of beginning of hearing repeating all around me. 

As I was saying learning, thinking, living in the beginning of being 
men and women often has in it very little of real being. Real being, 
the bottom nature, often does not then in the beginning do very loud 
repeating. Learning, thinking, talking, living, often then is not of the 
real bottom being. Some are this way all their living. Some slowly come 
to be repeating louder and more clearly the bottom being that makes 
them. Listening to repeating, knowing being in every one who ever was 
or is or will be living slowly came to be in me a louder and louder pound- 
ing. Now I have it to my feeling to feel all living, to be always listening 
to the slightest changing, to have each one come to be a whole one to 
me from the repeating in each one that sometime I come to be under- 
standing. Listening to repeating is often irritating, listening to repeat- 
ing can be dulling, always repeating is all of living, everything in a being 
is always repeating, always more and more listening to repeating gives 
to me completed understanding. Each one slowly comes to be a whole 
one to me. Each one slowly comes to be a whole one in me. 

In the beginning then learning and thinking and talking and feeling 
and loving and working in me mostly was not bottom being in me. 
Slowly it came out in me the feeling for living in repeating that now by 


listening and watching and feeling everything coming out of each one 
and always repeating the whole one gives to me completed understand- 

There was a time when I was questioning, always asking, when I 
was talking, wondering, there was a time when I was feeling, thinking 
and all the time then I did not know repeating, I did not see or hear or 
feel repeating. There was a long time then when there was nothing in 
me using the bottom loving repeating being that now leads me to know- 
ing. Then I was attacking, questioning, wondering, thinking, always at 
the bottom was loving repeating being, that was not then there to my 
conscious being. Sometime there will be written a long history of such 
a beginning. 

Always then there was there a recognition of the thing always re- 
peating, the being in each one, and always then thinking, feeling, talk- 
ing, living, was not of this real being. Slowly I came to hear repeating. 
More and more then I came to listen, now always and always I listen and 
always now each one comes to be a whole one in me. 

Sometimes in listening to a conversation which is very important to 
two men, to two women, to two men and women, sometime then it is 
a wonderful thing to see how each one always is repeating everything 
they are saying and each time in repeating, what each one is saying has 
more meaning to each one of them and so they go on and on and on and 
on repeating and always to some one listening, repeating is a very won- 
derful thing. There are many of them who do not live in each repeating 
each repeating coming out of them but always repeating is interesting. 
Repeating is what I am loving. Sometimes there is in me a sad feeling 
for all the repeating no one loving repeating is hearing, it is like any 
beauty that no one is seeing, it is a lovely thing, always some one should 
be knowing the meaning in the repeating always coming out of women 
and of men, the repeating of the being in them. So then. 

Every one is a brute in her way or his way to some one, every one 
has some kind of sensitiveness in them. 


Some feel some kinds of things others feel other kinds of things. 
Mostly every one feels some kinds of things. The way some things touch 
some and do not touch other ones and kinds in men and women then 
I will now begin to think a little bit about describing. To begin then. 

I am thinking it is very interesting the relation of the kind of things 
that touch men and women with the kind of bottom nature in them, the 
kind of being they have in them in every way in them, the way they react 
to things which may be different from the way they feel them. 

I am thinking very much of feeling things in men and women. As 
I was saying every one is a brute in her way or his way to some one, every 
one has some kind of sensitiveness in them. Mostly every one has some 
inner way of feeling in them, almost every one has some way of reacting 
to stimulus in them. This is not always the same thing. These things 
have many complications in them. 

I am beginning now a little a description of three women, Miss Dou- 
nor, Miss Charles and Mrs. Redfern. I am beginning now a little a real- 
isation of the way each one of them is in her way a brute to some one, 
each one has in her way a kind of sensitiveness in being. This is now 
some description of each one of the three of them Miss Dounor, Miss 
Charles and Mrs. Redfern. 

In listening to a conversation, as I was saying, repeating of each one 
and the gradual rising and falling and rising again of realisation is very 
interesting. This is now some description of the three women and as I 
was saying of the sensitiveness in each one of them to some things and 
the insensitiveness to other things and the bottom nature in them and 
the kinds of repeating in them and the bottom nature and the other na- 
tures mixed with the bottom nature in each one of them. 

Sensitiveness to something, understanding anything, feeling any- 
thing, that is very interesting to understand in each one. How much, 
when and where and how and when not and where not and how not 
they are feeling, thinking, understanding. To begin again then with 
feeling anything. 

Mostly every one is a brute in her way or his way to some one, mostly 
every one has some kind of sensitiveness in them. 

Mostly every one can have some kind of feeling in them, very many 
men and very many women can have some understanding in them of 
some kind of thing by the kind of being sensitive to some kind of im- 
pression that they have in them. 


Some kinds of men and women have a way of having sensation from 
some things and other men and women have it in them to be able to be 
impressionable to other kinds of things. Some men and some women 
have very much of sensitive being in them for the kind of thing they can 
be feeling, they can then be very loving, or very trembly from the abun- 
dant delicate fear in them, or very attacking from the intensity of the 
feeling in them, or very mystic in their absorption of feeling which is 
then all of them. There are some men and women having in them very 
much weakness as the bottom in them and watery anxious feeling, and 
sometimes nervous anxious feeling then in them and sometimes stub- 
born feeling then in them. There are some who have vague or vacant 
being as the bottom in them and it is very hard to know with such ones 
of them what feeling they have ever in them and there are some with 
almost intermittent being in them and it is very hard to tell with such 
of them what kind of thing gives to them a feeling, what kind of feeling 
they ever have really in them. As I was saying mostly every one some- 
times feels something, some one, is understanding something, some one, 
has some kind of sensitiveness in them to something, to some one, mostly 
every one. 

As I was saying some men and some women have very much of sen- 
sitive being in them for something that can give to them real feeling. 
They can then, some of these of them, when they are filled full then of 
such feeling, they can then be completely loving, completely believing, 
they can then have a trembling awed being in them, they can have then 
abundant trembly feeling in them, they can then be so full up then with 
the feeling in them that they are a full thing and action has no place then 
in them, they are completely then a feeling, there are then men and 
women, there are then women and men who have then this finely sensi- 
tive completed feeling that is sometime all them and perhaps Cora Dou- 
nor was one of such of them. Perhaps she was one of them and was such 
a one in loving Phillip Redfern. Perhaps that was the whole being she 
had in her then. 

Each one as I am saying has it in them to feel more or less, sometime, 
something, almost certainly each one sometime has some capacity for 
more or less feeling something. Some have in them always and very 
little feeling, some have some feeling and much nervous being always in 
them, some have as a bottom to them very much weakness and eagerness 
together then and they have then such of them some sensitiveness in 


them to things coming to them but often after they are then full up with 
nervous vibrations and then nothing can really touch them and then they 
can have in them nervous vibratory movement in them, anxious feeling 
in them and sometimes stubborn feeling then in them and then nothing 
can touch them and they are all this being then this nervous vibratory 
quivering and perhaps Mrs. Redfern was such a one Mrs. Redfern who 
had been Martha Hersland and was married now to Phillip Redfern and 
had come to Farnham and had there seen Phillip Redfern come to know 
Miss Dounor and had been then warned to take care of him by the dean 
of Farnham Miss Charles. She never knew then, Mrs. Redfern never 
knew then that she would not ever again have him, have Redfern again. 
This never could come to be real knowledge in her. She was always then 
and later always working at something to have him again and that was 
there always in her to the end of him and of her. There will be a little 
more description of her written in the history of the ending of the living 
in her father, in the history of the later living of her brother Alfred Hers- 
land who now just when her trouble was commencing was just then 
marrying Julia Dehning, in the history of her brother David Hersland 
her younger brother. More description of her will be part of the history 
of the ending of the existing of the Hersland family. There will be very 
much history of this ending of all of them of the Hersland family written 

The dean Miss Charles was very different frotn either Miss Dounor 
or Mrs. Redfern. She had it in her to have her own way of feeling things 
touching her, mostly there was in her less reactive than self-directive 
action in her than there was in the two women who were just then con- 
cerning her, Miss Dounor and Mrs. Redfern. 

It is hard to know it of any one whether they are enjoying anything, 
whether they are knowing they are giving pain to some one, whether 
they were planning that thing. It is hard to know such things in any 
one when they are telling when they are not telling to any one what they 
know inside them. It is hard telling it of any one whether they are en- 
joying a thing, whether they know that they are hurting some one, 
whether they have been planning the acting they have been doing. It 
is hard telling it of any one whether they are enjoying anything, whether 
they know that they are hurting any one, whether they have been plan- 
ning the acting they are doing. It is very hard then to know anything 
of the being in any one, it is hard then to know the being in many men 


and in many women, it is hard then to know the being and the feeling in 
any man or in any woman. It is hard to know it if they tell you all they 
know of it. It is hard to know it if they do not tell you what they know 
of it in it. Miss Cora Dounor then could do some planning, could do some 
hurting with it, that is certain. This is perhaps surprising to some, read- 
ing. To begin then with her feeling and her being and her acting. 

As I am saying she had it in her to be compounded of beautiful sen- 
sitive being, of being able to be in a state of being completely possessed 
by a wonderful feeling of loving and that was then the whole of the 
being that was being then in her and then it came to be in her that she 
could be hurting first Miss Charles and then Mrs. Redfern, then Miss 
Charles and Mrs. Redfern by planning. This is then the being in her 
this that I am now with very much complication slowly realising, not 
yet completely realising, not yet completely ready to be completely de- 
scribing, beginning now to be describing. The dean Miss Charles was 
a very different person, she was of the dependent independent kind of 
them. To understand the being in her there must be now a little realisa- 
tion of the way beginning is in very many persons having in them a 
nature that is self growing and a nature that is reacting to stimulation 
and that have it in them to have these two natures acting in not very 
great harmony inside them. Mrs. Redfern as I was saying in a long de- 
scription that has been already written was a very different kind of 
person from Miss Dounor and Miss Charles. These are then the three 
of them that were struggling and each of them had in them their own 
ways of being brutal, hurting some one, had each of them their own 
way of being sensitive to things and people near them. 

Sometimes I am almost despairing. Yes it is very hard, almost im- 
possible I am feeling now in my despairing feeling to have completely 
a realising of the being in any one, when they are telling it when they are 
not telling it, it is so very very hard to know it completely in one the being 
in one. I know the being in Miss Dounor that I am beginning describing, 
I know the being in Miss Charles that I am soon going to be beginning 
describing, I know the being in Mrs. Redfern, I have been describing the 
being in that one. I know the being in each one of these three of them 
and I am almost despairing for I am doubting if I am knowing it 
poignantly enough to be really knowing it, to be really knowing the 
being in any one of the three of them. Always now I am despairing. It 
is a very melancholy feeling I have in me now I am despairing about 


really knowing the complete being of any one of each one of these three 
of them Miss Dounor and Miss Charles and Mrs. Redfern. 

Miss Dounor as I was saying was to Redfern the most complete thing 
4 of gentleness and intelligence he could think of ever seeing in anybody 
who was living, Miss Dounor had it to have in her the complete thing 
of gentleness, of beauty in sensitiveness, in completeness of intelligent 
sensitiveness in completely loving. She was the complete thing then of 
gentleness and sensitiveness and intelligence and she had it as a com- 
plete thing gentleness and sensitiveness and intelligence in completely 
loving. It was in her complete in loving, complete in creative loving, it 
was then completed being, it was then completely in her completely 
loving Phillip Redfern. And always to the ending ~of his living in all the 
other loving and other troubling and the other enjoying of men and 
women in him he was faithful to the thing she had been, was and would 
be to him the completed incarnation of gentleness and sensitiveness and 
intelligence, gentle intelligence and intelligent sensitiveness and all to 
the point of completely creative loving that was to him the supreme 
thing in all living. Miss Dounor was then completely what Redfern 
found her to him, she was of them of the independent dependent kind 
of them who have sensitive being to the point of creative being, of attack- 
ing, of creative loving, creative feeling, of sometimes creative thinking 
and writing. She was then such a one and completely then this one and 
she had in her completely sensitive being to the point of attacking. She 
could have in her a planning of attacking and this came to be in her from 
the completeness of sensitive creative loving that she had then in her 
then when she was knowing Phillip Redfern. 

Perhaps she was not of this kind of them. Perhaps she was at the 
bottom, of the resisting kind of them. I think she was of the resisting 
kind of them and so she needed to own the one she needed for loving, 
so she could do resisting to planning making an attacking. I am almost 
despairing, yes a little I am realising the being in Miss Dounor and in 
Miss Charles and Mrs. Redfern, but I am really almost despairing, I 
have really in me a very very melancholy feeling, a very melancholy 
being, I am really then despairing. 

Miss Charles was of the kind of men and women that I speak of and 
have spoken of as the dependent independent kind of them. I will now 
tell a little about what I mean by self growing activity in such of them 
and reactive activity in such of them. As I was saying a long time back 


when I was describing the dependent independent kind of them, reac- 
tion is not poignant in them unless it enters into them the stimulation 
is lost in them and so sets it, the mass, in motion, it is not as in the other 
kind of them who have it to have a reactive emotion to be as poignant 
as a sensation as is the case in the independent dependent kind of them. 
Miss Charles then as I was saying was of the kind of them where reac- 
tion to have meaning must be a slow thing, but she had quick reactions 
as mostly all of them of this kind of them have them and those were in 
her mostly attacking being as is very common in those having in them 
dependent independent being. 

It is so very confusing that I am beginning to have in me despairing 
melancholy feeling. Mrs. Redfern as I was saying was of the independent 
dependent kind of them and being in her was never really attacking, it 
was mostly never active into forward movement it was incessantly in 
action as being in a state of most continual nervous agitation. They 
were then very different in their being the three of them Miss Dounor 
and Miss Charles and Mrs. Redfern and they had each one of them 
their own way of hurting the other ones in their then living, of having 
in them sensitiveness to something. 

It is hard to know it of any one whether they are enjoying anything, 
whether they are feeling something, whether they are knowing they 
are giving pain to some one, whether they were planning that thing. It 
is a very difficult thing to know such things in any one any one is know- 
ing, very difficult even when they are telling that one all the feeling they 
have in them, a very difficult thing when they are not telling anything. 
It is a very difficult thing to tell it of any one whether they are enjoying 
a thing, whether they know that they are hurting some one, whether 
they have been planning the acting they have been doing. It is a very 
difficult thing to know anything of the being in any one, it is a very diffi- 
cult thing to know the being in any one if they tell you all that they 
themselves know of it as they live it, if they themselves tell you nothing 
at all about it. It is a very difficult thing to know the being in any one. 
It is a very difficult thing to know whether any one is feeling a thing, 
enjoying a thing, knowing that they are hurting some one, planning 
that thing, planning anything they are doing in their living. It is a diffi- 
cult thing to know the being in any one if that one tells to any one com- 
pletely all that that one has in them of telling, it is a very difficult thing 
to know the being in any one if they are not telling any one anything 


that they can have as telling in them. It is a very difficult thing to know 
it of any one the being in them, it is a very difficult thing to tell it of any 
one what they are feeling, whether they are enjoying, whether they are 
knowing that they are hurting some one, whether they had been plan- 
ning doing that thing. It is a very difficult thing to know these things in 
anyone, it is a difficult thing if that one is telling everything they can 
be telling, if that one is telling nothing. It is certainly a difficult thing to 
know it of any one whether they have in them a kind of feeling, whether 
they have in them at some time any realisation that they are hurting 
some one, whether they had planned doing that thing. 

Miss Dounor had come to live with Miss Charles, they had come to 
know each other in the way that it was natural for each one of them to 
know the other one of them. The two of them then had come to know 
Mrs. Redfern. They both had come then each in their way to know her 
and to feel her and to have an opinion of her. 

Miss Dounor had this being in her. She could have some planning 
in her, this came from the completeness of pride in her. This now comes 
to be clearer, that she had as completely pride in her as sensitiveness and 
intelligent gentleness inside her. She had in her pride as sensitive, as 
intelligent, as complete as the loving being in her when she was loving 
Redfern. She had in her pride as sensitive, as intelligent, as complete 
as the being ever in her. She had always had in her a pride as complete, 
as intelligent, as sensitive as the complete being of her. She had in her 
a pride as intelligent, as sensitive as complete as the being in her. This 
made it that she had planning in her, this made attacking sometimes in 
her. This never made any action in her toward a lover, this gave to her 
a power of planning and this was in her and she could be wonderfully 
punishing some around her. This could be turned into melodrama if 
the intelligence in her had not been so gentle and so fine in her, this in 
many who are like her is a melodrama. In her it made her able to do 
some planning against some to punish them not for interfering but for 
existing and so claiming something that entirely belonged to her. What 
was in Redfern to him himself a weakness in him was to her a heroic 
thing to be defending. Pride was in her then as delicate, as gentle, as 
intelligent as sensitive as complete as the being in her. This is now more 
description of her. This is now some description of the way she could 
be hurting another, how she could be feeling another, how she could 
have planning in her, how she did have planning in her. This is now 


more description of her and the being in her. I am now a little under- 
standing the whole of her, I have in me still now a little melancholy 

Miss Charles was of the dependent independent kind of them as I 
was saying. 

Everybody is perfectly right. Everybody has their own being in them. 
Some say it of themselves in their living, I am as I am and I know I 
will never be changing. Mostly every one is perfectly right in living. 
That is a very pleasant feeling to be having about every one in the 
living of every one. Mostly not very many have that pleasant feeling 
that everybody is as they are and they will not be very much changing 
in them and everybody is right in their living. It is a very pleasant feel- 
ing, knowing every one is as they are and everybody is right in their 
living. Miss Dounor was as she was and she was not ever changing, Miss 
Charles was as she was and was not ever changing. Mrs. Redfern was as 
she was and always she wanted to be changing and always she was 

Miss Dounor as I was saying was as she was all her living and was not 
really ever changing and she was very right in her living and she was very 
complete in her being and her pride was as complete in her as her being 
and so she could be planning her conviction of how far Mrs. Redfern 
should not go in presumption, how far Miss Charles should not go in 
her interfering, how completely Phillip Redfern was a saint in living and 
in her devotion and she could carry out all this in its completion. Mrs. 
Redfern had no understanding in desiring. Philip Redfern always 
should give her always would give her always would give to every one 
.anything she, anything they were ever asking. This was the being in him. 
Asking was not presumption in Mrs. Redfern, desiring was presump- 
tion and Miss Dounor could then have in her a planning or perfect at- 
tacking. Always Mrs. Redfern should have anything she could ever ask 
of anyone, that was a very certain thing. Always Mrs. Redfern should 
have, would have from Mr. Redfern anything she was ever asking of 
him. Always then to them to Mr. Redfern and to Miss Donour then, al- 
ways then Mrs. Redfern had everything from Redfern that she ever 
could ask of him. This was then a very certain thing. Always then Mrs. 
Redfern had the right to ask anything and always she would have any- 
thing she should ever be asking of Phillip Redfern. She had in her, Mrs. 
Redfern, no intelligence, no understanding, in desiring, Miss Donour 


had in her then a perfect power of planning the attacking that should 
keep Mrs. Redfern in her place of condemnation for Mrs. Redfern had 
not in her any intelligence in desiring, she had a right to anything she 
ever could be asking and she would have it given to her then whenever 
she asked for anything, Mrs. Redfern was never changing in her being, 
always she was trying, always she was without understanding in her 
desiring, always Miss Donour could completely plan an attacking when 
the time came for such action to restrain Mrs. Redfern in her unintelli- 
gent desiring. 

Miss Dounor was then perfectly right in her being. She was never 
changing, she was completely loving, she was completely understanding 
desiring, she was complete in the pride of attacking in her complete sen- 
sitive, completely intelligent, completely gentle being, completely under- 
stood desiring. Mrs. Redfern had no understanding in desiring. Mrs. 
Redfern always was trying to change the being she had in her to find 
some way of having intelligent desiring in her, always she would have 
from Redfern anything she could anything she should anything she 
would ever ask him to be giving to her. That was the being in her. 

There were three of them then, Miss Charles, Miss Dounor and Mrs. 

Miss Charles was then not permitted by Miss Donour to interfere 
with the being inside her, ever at any time in their living. Miss Charles 
was never asking anything of any one. Miss Charles was then one of 
the dependent independent kind of them. Miss Charles was then one 
having general moral and special moral aspirations and general unmoral 
desires and ambitious and special unmoral ways of carrying them into 
realisation and there was never inside her any contradiction and this 
is very common in very many kinds of them of men and women and 
later in the living of Alfred Hersland there will be so very much discus- 
sion of this matter and now there will be a little explanation of the way 
it acts in the kind of men and women of which Miss Charles was one. 

Some have it in them some having in them a being like Miss Charles 
some of such of them have it in them to have it in the beginning very 
strongly in them that they have generalised moral aspirations, strongly 
detailed moral struggles in them, and then slowly in them comes out in 
them that they are vigorous egotistic sensual natures, loving being, living, 
writing, reading, eating, drinking, loving, bullying, teasing, finding out 
everything and slowly they get courage in them to feel the being in them 


they have in them, slowly they get courage in them to live the being they 
have in them. Some like Miss Charles keep on having tranquilly inside 
them equally strongly in them moral aspiration general and detailed in 
them, egotistic expedient domineering as a general aspiration and as 
detailed living in them. Some are always struggling, some of this kind 
of them, some get to have in them that the moral fervor in them in the 
general and specific expression of them get to be the whole of them, 
some get to have it all fairly mixed up in them. This is now a little de- 
scription of how one of them when she was a young one one of the first 
kind of them who slowly came to have the courage of feeling and then 
living the real being came to have the struggle as a beginning. Later then 
came the courage to be more certain of the real being. This is now a little 
piece of such a description of such beginning experiencing. 

As I was saying in many of such ones there is the slow reacting, slow 
expressing being that comes more and more in their living to determine 
them. There are in many of such ones aspirations and convictions due 
to quick reactions to others around them, to books they are reading, to 
the family tradition, to the lack of articulation of the meaning of the 
being in them that makes them need then to be filled full with other reac- 
tions in them so that they will then have something. Some then spend 
all their living struggling to adjust the being that slowly comes to active 
stirring in them to the aspirations they had in them, some want to create 
their aspirations from the being in them and they have not the courage 
in them. It is a wonderful thing how much courage it takes even to 
buy a clock you are very much liking when it is a kind of one every one 
thinks only a servant should be owning. It is very wonderful how much 
courage it takes to buy bright colored handkerchiefs when every one 
having good taste uses white ones or pale colored ones, when a bright 
colored one gives you so much pleasure you suffer always at not having 
them. It is very hard to have the courage of your being in you, in clocks, 
in handkerchiefs, in aspirations, in liking things that are low, in any- 
thing. It is a very difficult thing to get the courage to buy the kind of 
clock or handkerchiefs you are loving when every one thinks it is a silly 
thing. It takes very much courage to do anything connected with your 
being unless it is a very serious thing. In some, expressing their being 
needs courage, for, foolish ways to every one else, in them. It is a very 
difficult thing to have courage to buy clocks and handkerchiefs you are 
liking, you are seriously liking and everybody thinks then you are joking. 


It is a very difficult thing to have courage for something no one is think- 
ing is a serious thing. 

As I was saying Miss Charles had in her what I am calling de- 
pendent independent being, that is being that is not in its quicker re- 
acting poignant in its feeling, not having emotion then have the keen- 
ness of sensation as those having independent dependent being have it 
in them. Miss Charles was then such a one. 

This is then a very common thing as I am saying. Miss Charles had 
in her this being. As I am saying there are two ways then of acting in a 
being like those I have been just describing. The acting from the per- 
sonality slowly developing, the acting from the organised reaction to 
contemporary ideals, tradition, education and nted of having, before 
the developing of their own being, completed aspiration. Often these 
keep on as they did in Miss Charles and no one is knowing which is the 
stronger way of being in such a one. Sometimes there is as I was saying 
in the beginning very much struggling and then slowly the personality 
comes to action and that one drops away the early filling, sometimes the 
early filling comes to be the later filling and in such a one then there is 
not any changing. This is quite interesting and will be always more and 
more dwelt upon. This then was the being in Miss Charles and this 
was the meaning of her action with Miss Dounor and Mrs. Redfern and 
Mr. Redfern that I have been describing. 

There will be now a very little more description of the being in them, 
of the virtuous feeling in them, of the religious feeling in them, of the 
sensitiveness in them, of the worldly feeling in them, of the succeeding 
and failing in them, in each one of the three of them, Miss Donour, Miss 
Charles and Mrs. Redfern. 

Every one has their own being in them. Every one is right in their 
own living. This is a pleasant feeling to have in one about every one. 
This makes every one very interesting to one having such a feeling in 
them. Every one is right in their living. Each one has her or his own 
being in her or in him. Each one is right in the living in her or in him. 
Each one of these three of them were right in their living. This is now a 
little more description of the being in each one of them. 

It is a very difficult thing to know it of any one whether they are 
enjoying anything, whether they are knowing they are giving pain to 
some one, whether they were planning that thing. It is a very difficult 
thing to know it of any one what is the kind of thing they are sensitive to 


in living, what is the bottom nature in them, whether they will in living 
be mostly succeeding or mostly failing. It is hard to know such things in 
any one when they are telling everything they have in them, when they 
are not telling to any one anything of what they know inside them. It 
is a very difficult thing the telling it of any one whether they are enjoying 
a thing, whether they know that they are hurting some one, whether they 
have been planning the acting they are doing. It is a very difficult thing 
then to know anything of the being in any one, it is hard then to know 
the being in many men and in many women, it is a very difficult thing 
then to know the being and the feeling in any man or in any woman. It 
is hard to know it if they tell you all they know of it. It is hard to know 
it if they do not tell you what they know of it in it. Nevertheless now 
almost I am understanding the being in the three of them Miss Charles, 
Miss Dounor and Mrs. Redfern. There will be now a very little more 
description of the being in them, of the virtuous feeling in them of the 
religious feeling in them, of the sensitiveness in them, of the worldly 
feeling in them, of the succeeding and failure in them, in each one of the 
three of them Miss Charles, Miss Dounor and Mrs. Redfern. 

Miss Cora Dounor could do some planning, could do some attacking 
with it, that is certain. This is perhaps surprising to some reading. To 
begin then with her feeling and her being and her doing, and her suc- 
ceeding and her failing. 

She was then complete in her loving, she had complete understanding 
in desiring in all her relation with Phillip Redfern, she had completely 
then the realisation later in her that Phillip Redfern was saintly and she 
had then in her the complete possession of her adoration, the complete 
understanding and possession of her adoration of the saintly being in 
him, and this was then in her a complete succeeding in being and in liv- 
ing. This was not exactly virtuous or religious being in her this was com- 
plete understanding desiring and complete intelligent being In her and 
this was in her succeeding in her being and in her living. This is very 
certain. This was in her succeeding in her being and in her living. She 
had then in her complete understanding in desiring, she had then com- 
pletely in her completed intelligence in adoration and this was complete 
being in her and it was a complete possession of her and by her and this 
was then completely succeeding in living. This is now very certain. 

She had then complete succeeding in her living as I was saying, she 
had in her complete pride in her and this could be in her strong sensitive 


attacking but this was not completely a succeeding in her living. As I 
was saying Mrs. Redfern had in her no intelligence whatever in desiring, 
this was in her then presumption in her to Miss Dounor, not the things 
for which Mrs. Redfern was asking, Mrs. Redfern had the right to ask for 
anything or everything, it was desiring in her that was a thing Miss 
Dounor could rightly condemn in her and later she made it very certain 
to every one that Mrs. Redfern had no intelligence no understanding in 
desiring and then at last Mrs. Redfern reproached her and so then in a 
sense Miss Dounor was then failing in her being completely proud inside 
her. Mrs. Redfern attempting to attack her, attacking her even though 
failing in attacking was a failing of the complete intelligent pride in the 
understanding sensitive planning attacking pride in Miss Dounor and so 
Miss Dounor -in her living was not then completely succeeding. This is 
certain. There was then complete succeeding in Miss Dounor in her lov- 
ing in her completely understanding desiring, in her complete intelli- 
gence of adoration, in the completion of the being then in her, there was 
in her then some failing that Mrs. Redfern could attack her with going 
on attempting desiring. This is all very certain. 

Miss Dounor held Miss Charles from really touching her real being, 
she did not hold her from really touching Redfern's being. She never 
recognised this failing in herself inside her but it was a failing of the com- 
pleteness of pride in her and later much later when Redfern was no 
longer existing in living it made them separate from one another, later 
it in spots made Miss Dounor bitter. Miss Charles then was not succeed- 
ing in keeping Miss Dounor with her, she was winning by not then hav- 
ing any remembrance in her of the trouble she had had with her/Miss 
Dounor then was succeeding and failing in some ways as I have been say- 
ing. There was real succeeding in her as I have been saying, there was 
real failing in her as I have been saying. This is all very certain. This has 
been some description of the being in Miss Dounor and of her failing 
and of her succeeding. 

Miss Charles was of the kind of them the kind of men and women I 
know very well in living. I know very well all the varieties of this kind 
of them. In each kind of them they are nice ones they are those that are 
not such nice ones, they are pleasant ones and they are unpleasant ones, 
they are those having that kind of being in them so lightly it hardly then 
makes them that kind of them, there are then some o them having that 
being in them that kind of being in them so concentratedly it is a won- 


derful thing to see them, to see a kind of being so complete in one man or 
in one woman. Miss Charles was of a kind of being I know very well in 
living, very well indeed in living, I know very well all the varieties of the 
kind of being that Miss Charles was in living in all the very many mil- 
lions ever living having had or having that kind of being in them. Some 
then of a kind of being are nice ones, some of that kind of them are not 
very nice ones, some of that kind of them are not at all nice ones. Some 
of a kind of them are nice ones of that kind of them and then they have 
a mixture in them of other kinds of being in them and then that one is 
not a nice one though that one has a nice kind of one kind of being in 
that one. That often makes one a very puzzling one to every one. There 
are then all kinds of ways of being one kind of them in men and women. 
Some are a nice kind of a kind of them, and some are not a nice kind of 
that same kind of them. Sometimes being in one who is a nice one of a 
kind of them and then has other things mixed up in them is very per- 
plexing and sometimes no one in such a one ever comes to an under- 
standing of that one. Well then that is true then that of each kind of them 
there are nice ones and nice enough ones and not very nice ones, and not 
at all nice ones and very horrid ones. This can be in them with any 
strength or weakness of their kind of being in them, it is from the mixing 
and the accenting and relation of parts of their kind of nature in them. 
There is one thing very certain of each kind of them of each kind there 
is of men and women there arc nice ones and then there are not at all nice 
ones of them. And about some mostly every one is agreeing and about 
some there is very much disagreeing and there are very many ways of 
feeling every one and every one has their own being in them. Yes every 
one has their own being in them and yes every one is right in living their 
own being in them and this is a very difficult thing to be realising and it 
is a very pleasant thing to have inside one when it comes to be really in 

Miss Charles was of a kind of men and women I know very well in all 
the kind of ways of being they have in them. Miss Charles was one of the 
independent dependent kind of them. Miss Charles was one who was 
herself a very strong one in her being and it slowly came to be more and 
more filling inside her. Miss Charles was one who had it in her to have 
reaction in her to influences around her when she was younger, to desires 
in her, to tradition and mob action and to very many things then and 
they made moral aspiration in her they made a reformer of her, they 


made an aggressive attacking person of her and when she was a young 
one all this then almost completely filled her She was as I was saying of 
the dependent independent kind in men and women and resisting, slow 
realisation was the bottom way of feeling and of fighting and of under- 
standing in her. This came then slowly to be stronger in her, this made 
then of her one that could be feeling and understanding brilliant men 
and brilliant women, brilliant and sensitive men and brilliant and sensi- 
tive women, made her feel them then and choose them then, then when 
her resisting sensitive understanding had come to be more completely the 
whole filling in her, then when slow steady detailed domination came to 
be then really filling then inside her, then when reforming attacking was 
changed in her to the personal being that then was mostly all the filling 
in her. It was never all the filling in her always she had in her a little of 
the special reforming attacking which was reaction in her, quick reaction 
to things and conditions around her and always she had very much in her 
of the generalised moral attacking conviction that came from the gener- 
alisation of her attacking and that made a righteous moral person of her 
and this is a very common thing and later there will be endless discussing 
of the meaning of this kind of moral being in all kinds of men and 
women, the generalised conviction and the relation of it to the concrete 
living, feeling, being in them, but this will come later in the beginning of 
the understanding of Alfred Hersland that will pretty soon now com- 
mence to be written. 

Miss Charles was of the dependent independent kind of them. These 
have it in them then to have when they have quick reaction in them 
that is not a stirring from the depths of them these have it very often 
that this in them is a violent attacking, often continuous bragging, often 
moral reforming conviction, often nervous action in them, often inces- 
sant talking, incessant action, incessant attacking in them and this is in 
those of them that are the pure thing of dependent independent being 
and attacking is not their way at all of winning fighting. There are some 
who have in them resisting being and they have in them attacking being 
as another nature in them but that is a different thing from this thing 
lhat I am now describing, from the being in Miss Charles. Miss Charles 
was completely dependent independent being, attacking was not her way 
of winning fighting, it was resisting as I was saying in telling what she 
did to win her fighting for Miss Dounor with Redfern. That was then 


when she was a young one when she was no longer a young one, when 
her own being was almost completely then her filling, when there was 
in her the generalised moral emotion that came from the reaction that 
rilled her a good deal in her young living, reaction that made attacking 
being then in her, in her who had in her to have resisting as her way of 
winning fighting, that was then what gave to her then attempting domi- 
nating every one by attacking and this is a very common thing in those 
having in them dependent independent being, this is a very common 
thing in them in their young living when their real way of winning 
fighting has not come yet to be in them. I am not saying that those hav- 
ing in them dependent independent being cannot have in them religion 
and moral or reforming passion as the expression of the being in them, 
there are very many of them who have it in them as I was saying, the 
old man Hissen had it in him and there are very many of them of this 
kind of them and there are very many of many various kinds of them of 
the dependent independent kind of them that have religious or virtuous 
or moral or reforming passion in them as the whole expression of the 
being in them but these express this then by resisting fighting which is 
their way of winning fighting. As I was saying there are many having in 
them dependent independent being, and there are some of them who 
have it in them only when they are younger ones and some have it in 
them very strongly in them up to their ending, there are very many of 
them who have much attacking of quick reacting, much attacking in 
bragging, in being quickly certain of everything, of being very quick in 
judging everything and these then some of them are mostly all filled up 
with this kind of reacting attacking in them which is not in them their 
real way of winning fighting. This is a very important thing to know in 
men and women, a very important thing to know in them in knowing 
them, in judging of the power in them of succeeding or of failing in their 
living. The independent dependent kind in men and women can have 
quick reaction that is completely poignant, that is attacking, in them, 
that is their real way of winning fighting. Those having in them depend- 
ent independent nature in them have not real power in quick resisting, 
in attacking fighting, many of them have this filling them all their liv- 
ing, many of them have this filling them in their young living when their 
own way of winning fighting is not yet developed in them enough to 
fill them, some have almost nothing of this kind of acting in them some 


of the dependent independent kind of them. All this is very important, 
very very important, sometime there will be very very much description 
of every kind of being in every kind of men and women. 

Miss Charles was of the kind of them the kind of men and women I 
know very well in living. I know very well all the varieties of this kind 
of them. Some of each kind there is of men and women are very nice 
ones of their kind of them, some of each kind there is of men and women 
are not nice ones at all of their kind of them. Miss Charles was not a 
very nice one, she was not a not nice one at all of her kind of them. Being 
nice or not a nice kind of one, a pleasant or unpleasant kind of one was 
not in her an important thing. This is a very certain thing. She was as I 
was saying in her younger living aggressive in hex detailed and general- 
ised conviction of morality and reformation and equalisation. Later in 
her living she went on in the direction she had been going but her 
methods then were from the being in her and that then mostly entirely 
filled her. That made her control everything, every one near her by 
steady resisting pressure and that was then the way of winning in her. 
Everything near her, every one near her, every detail of everything was 
then more or less completely owned by her. She was of the kind of them 
who own the thing they need for loving. Later as I was saying Miss 
Dounor left her, Miss Charles had a little owned Redfern almost and 
Miss Dounor many years later left her and Miss Charles went on always 
to her ending completely owning the college of Farnham. 

There has been now enough description of Miss Charles. There has 
been enough description of Miss Dounor. There has been enough de- 
scription of Miss Dounor and of Miss Charles. There will be now a very 
little more description of Mrs. Redfern. 

At the time of the ending of the living of the Redfern's at Farnham, 
Alfred Hersland was just coming to his marrying of Julia Dehning. The 
Redferns after the ending of their living at the college of Farnham never 
lived anywhere together again. Mrs. Redfern never understood this thing. 
Always she was expecting it to begin again their living together until 
after the complete ending of being in Redfern. That made her certain 
then that they would never live together again. 

After the ending of their Farnham living the Redferns never lived any- 
where together again. Mrs. Redfern never understood this thing. She 
never knew that she would not ever again have him. This never could 
come to be real knowledge in her and she was always working at some- 


thing to have him again and that was there always in her to the end of 
him and of her. First she was travelling and studying and then she was 
working to make some women understand something and many laughed 
at her and always she was full of desiring and always she was never 
understanding in desiring. When there was the end of her living with 
Redfern her brother Alfred was just coming to his marrying Julia Dehn- 
ing. Martha was then travelling and studying and then she came back 
to be with her father and her mother was weakening then and later she 
was dead and Mr. Hersland lost his great fortune and Martha then took 
care of him. There will be now a little more description of her and then 
of her with him. There will be a little more description of her written in 
the history of the ending of the living in her father, in the history of the 
later living of her brother Alfred Hersland, in the history of her brother 
David Hersland. More description of her will be part of the history of 
the ending of the existing of the Hersland family. There will be very 
much history of this ending of all of them of the Hersland family written 

There will be now a little more description written of her and of her 
living with her father when she came back to the family living back out 
of her trouble after the ending of the living in Phillip Redfern. 

After the ending of the Redfern's living at Farnham the two of them, 
Mr. and Mrs. Redfern never lived anywhere together again. Mrs. Red- 
fern never understood this thing. Always she was expecting it to begin 
again, their living together and always she was studying and preparing 
herself to be a companion to him in intellectual living. Always then she 
was studying and striving and travelling and working. And then he was 
dead and then she knew they would not live together again. Then she 
was certain of this thing. 

That was her living then until he was dead and she went back to the 
ten acre place where then her father and mother were living and her 
mother was weakening then and a little while later then she died there 
and Martha finished her living staying with her father who had then 
lost his great fortune. 


Disillusionment in living is finding that no one can really ever be agree- 
ing with you completely in anything. Disillusionment then in living that 
gives to very many then melancholy feeling, some despairing feeling, 
some resignation, some fairly cheerful beginning and some a forgetting 
and continuing and some a dreary trickling weeping some violent attack- 
ing and some a letting themselves do anything, disillusion then is really 
finding, really realising, really being certain that no one really can com- 
pletely agree with you in anything, that, as is very certain, not, those 
fighting beside you or living completely with you or anybody, really, can 
really be believing anything completely that you are believing. Really 
realising this thing, completely realising this thing is the disillusionment 
in living is the beginning of being an old man or -an old woman is being 
no longer a young one no longer a young man or a young woman no 
longer a growing older young man or growing older young woman. 
This is then what every one always has been meaning by living bringing 
disillusion. This is the real thing of disillusion that no one, not any one 
really is believing, seeing, understanding, thinking anything as you are 
thinking, believing, seeing, understanding such a thing. This is then 
what disillusion is from living and slowly then after failing again and 
again in changing some one, after finding that some one that has been 
fighting for something, that every one that has been fighting something 
beside you for a long time that each one of them splits oft from you 
somewhere and you must join on with new ones or go on all alone then 
or be a disillusioned one who is not any longer then a young one. This 
is then disillusionment in living and sometime in the history of David 
Hersland the younger son in the Hersland family living then in a part 
of Gossols where they alone of rich people were living there will be com- 
pletely a history of the disillusionment of such a realising and the dying 
then of that one, of young David Hersland then. 

This is then complete disillusionment in living, the complete realisa- 
tion that no one can believe as you do about anything, so not really any 
single one and to some as I am saying this is a sad thing, to mostly every 
one it is sometime a shocking thing, sometimes a shocking thing, some- 
time a real shock to them, to mostly every one a thing that only very 
slowly with constant repetition is really a complete certain thing inside 
to give to them the being that is no longer in them really young being. 
This is then the real meaning of not being any longer a young one in 
living, the complete realising that not any one really can believe what 


any other one is believing and some there are, enough of them, who 
never have completely such a realisation, they are always hoping to find 
her or him, they are always changing her or him to fit them, they are 
always looking, they are always forgetting failing or explaining it by 
something, they are always going on and on in trying. There are a very 
great many of them who are this way to their ending. There are a 
very great many who are this way almost to their very ending, there 
are a great many men and women who have sometime in them in their 
living complete disillusion. 

There is then as I am saying complete disillusion in living, the realis- 
ing, completely realising that not any one, not one fighting for the same 
thinking and believing as the other, not any one has the same believing 
in her or in him that any other one has in them and it comes then some- 
time to most every one to be realising with feeling this thing and then 
they often stop having friendly feeling and then often they begin again 
but it is then a different thing between them, they are old then and not 
young then in their feeling. 

Young ones sometimes think they have it in them, this thing, some 
young ones kill themselves then, stop living then, this is often happen- 
ing, young ones sometimes, very often even, think they have in them this 
thing but they do not have it in them, mostly not any young one, as a 
complete realisation, this thing, they have it in them and it is sometimes, 
very often then an agony to them, some of them kill themselves or are 
killed then, but really mostly not any of them have really realised the 
thing, they may be dead from this thing, they have not realised the thing, 
it has been an awful agony in them, they have not really grasped the 
thing as having general human meaning, it has been a shock to them, 
it may perhaps even have killed completely very completely some of 
them, mostly then a young one has not really such a thing in them, this 
is pretty nearly certain, later there will be much description of disillusion- 
ment in the being of David Hersland who was always in his living as 
I was saying trying to be certain from clay to day in his living what there 
was in living that could make it for him a completely necessary thing. 

This is then a very little description of feeling disillusionment in liv- 
ing. There is this thing then there is the moment and a very complete 
moment to those that have had it when something they have bought or 
made or loved or are is a thing that they are afraid, almost certain, very 
fearful that no one will think it a nice thing and then some one likes 


that thing and this then is a very wonderful feeling to know that some 
one really appreciates the thing. This is a very wonderful thing, this is 
a thing which I will now be illustrating. 

Disillusionment in living is the finding out nobody agrees with you 
not those that are and were fighting with you. Disillusionment in living 
is the finding out nobody agrees with you not those that are fighting for 
you. Complete disillusionment is when you realise that no one can for 
they can't change. The amount they agree is important to you until the 
amount they do not agree with you is completely realised by you. Then 
you say you will write for yourself and strangers, you will be for yourself 
and strangers and this then makes an old man or an old woman of you. 

This is then one thing, another thing is the perfect joy of finding some 
one, any one really liking something you are liking, making, doing, 
being. This is another thing and a very pleasant thing, sometimes not a 
pleasant thing at all. That depends on many things, on some thing. 

It is a very strange feeling when one is loving a clock that is to every 
one of your class of living an ugly and a foolish one and one really likes 
such a thing and likes it very much and liking it is a serious thing, or one 
likes a colored handkerchief that is very gay and every one of your kind 
of living thinks it a very ugly or a foolish thing and thinks you like it be- 
cause it is a funny thing to like it and you like it with a serious feeling, 
or you like eating something and liking it is a childish thing to every 
one or you like something that is a dirty thing and no one can really like 
that thing or you write a book and while you write it you are ashamed 
for every one must think you are a silly or a crazy one and yet you write 
it and you are ashamed, you know you will be laughed at or pitied by 
every one and you have a queer feeling and you are not very certain and 
you go on writing. Then some one says yes to it, to something you are 
liking, or doing or making and then never again can you have com- 
pletely such a feeling of being afraid and ashamed that you had then 
when you were writing or liking the thing and not any one had said yes 
about the thing. In a way it is a very difficult thing to like anything, to 
do anything. You can never have again either about something you have 
done or about something any one else has done the same complete feel- 
ing if some one else besides the first one sees it, some other one if you have 
made it, yourself if you have understood something, you can never again 
have the complete feeling of recognition that you have then. You can 
have very many kinds of feelings you can only alone and with the first 


one have the perfect feeling of not being almost completely filled with 
being ashamed and afraid to show something to like something with a 
really serious feeling. 

I have not been very clear in this telling, it will be clearer in the 
description of master and schools in living and in working, and in paint- 
ing and in writing and in everything. 

It is a very queer thing this not agreeing with any one. It would seen! 
that where we are each of us always telling and repeating and explain- 
ing and doing it again and again that some one would really understand 
what the other one is always repeating. But in loving, in working, in 
everything it is always the same thing. In loving some one is jealous, 
really jealous and it would seem an impossible thing to the one not un- 
derstanding that the other one could have about such a thing a jealous 
feeling and they have it and they suffer and they weep and sorrow in it 
and the other one cannot believe it, they cannot believe the other one 
can really mean it and sometime the other one perhaps comes to realise 
it that the other one can really suffer in it and then later that one tries 
to reassure the other one the one that is then suffering about that thing 
and the other one the one that is receiving such reassuring says then, did 
you think I ever could believe this thing, no I have no fear of such a thing, 
and it is all puzzling, to have one kind of feeling, a jealous feeling, and 
not have a fear in them that the other one does not want them, it is a 
very mixing thing and over and over again when you are certain it is 
a whole one some one, one must begin again and again and the only 
thing that is a help to one is that there is really so little fundamental 
changing in any one and always every one is repeating big pieces of them 
and so sometimes perhaps some one will know something and I certainly 
would like very much to be that one and so now to begin. 

All this leads again to kinds in men and women. This then will be 
soon now a description of difference in men and women morally and 
intellectually in them between concrete acting, thinking and feeling in 
them and generalised acting, thinking and feeling in them. 

Many women and men have a completely sure feeling in them. Many 
men and women have certain feeling with something inside them. 

Many have a very certain feeling about something inside them. Many 
need company for it, this is very common, many need a measure for it, 
this will need explaining, some need drama to support it, some need 
lying to help it, some are not letting their right hand know what their 


left hand is doing with it, some love it, some hate it, some never are very 
certain they really have it, some only think they love it, some like the 
feeling of loving it they would have if they could have it. Some have a 
feeling they would have it if they had their life to live over again and 
they sigh about it. Certain feeling in men and women is very interesting. 
As I was saying in many there is the slow reacting, slow expressing 
being that comes more and more in their living to determine them. There 
are in many of such ones aspirations and convictions due to quick reac- 
tions to others around them, to books they are reading, to the family 
tradition, to the spirit of the age in educating, in believing, to the lack 
of power of articulating the being in them that makes them need then to 
be filled full with other reactions in them so that they will then have 
something. Some of such of them spend all their living in adjusting the 
being that comes to active condition inside them in their living to the 
being they have come to be in living from all being that has been affect- 
ing them in all their living, some of such of them want a little in them 
to create their living from the being inside them and they have not the 
power in them for this thing, they go on then living the being of every 
one that has been making them. It is a wonderful thing how very much 
it has to be in one, how it needs to be so strongly in one anything, how 
much it needs to be in one anything so that thing is a thing that comes 
then to be done, it is a wonderful thing how very much it needs to be in 
one anything, any little any big thing so that that thing will be done by 
that one. It is a wonderful thing as I was saying and I am now repeating, 
it is a wonderful thing how much a thing needs to be in one as a desire 
in them how much courage any one must have in them to be doing any- 
thing if they are a first one, if it is something no one is thinking is a seri- 
ous thing, if it is the buying of a clock one is very much liking and every- 
body is thinking it an ugly or a foolish one and the one wanting it has 
for it a serious feeling and no one can think that one is buying it for any- 
thing but as doing a funny thing. It is a hard thing to be loving something 
with a serious feeling and every one is thinking that only a servant girl 
could be loving such a thing, it is a hard thing then to buy that thing. 
It is a very wonderful thing how much courage it takes to buy and use 
them and like them bright colored handkerchiefs when every one having 
good taste is using white ones or pale colored ones when a bright colored 
one gives to the one buying them so much pleasure that that one suffers 
always at not having them when that one has not bought one of such of 


them. It is a very difficult thing to have your being in you so that you 
will be doing something, anything you are wanting, having something 
anything you are wanting when you have plenty of money for the buy- 
ing, in clocks in handkerchiefs, so that you will be thinking, feeling any- 
thing that you are needing feeling, thinking, so that you will be having 
aspirations that are really of a thing filling you with meaning, so that 
you will be having really in you in liking a real feeling of satisfaction. 
It is very hard to know what you are liking, whether you are not really 
liking something that is a low thing to yourself then, it is a very difficult 
thing to get the courage to buy the kind of clock or handkerchiefs you 
are loving when every one thinks it is a silly thing, when every one 
thinks you are doing it for the joke of the thing. It is hard then to know 
whether you are really loving that thing. It takes very much courage to 
do anything connected with your being that is not a serious thing. It 
takes courage to be doing a serious thing that is connected with one's 
being that is certain. In some, expressing their being needs courage, in 
foolish ways, ways that are foolish ones to every one else, in them. It is 
a very difficult thing to have courage to buy clocks and handkerchiefs 
you are loving, you are seriously appreciating, with which you have very 
seriously pleasure with enjoying and everybody is thinking then that you 
are joking. It is a very difficult thing to have courage for that which no 
one is thinking is a serious thing. 

Some have a measure in living and some do not have any measure to 
determine them. Many in their living are determined by the measure of 
some one, they are to themselves to be like some one or very near to 
what that one is for them, they are like some one or are something like 
some one, they have then a measure by which they can determine what 
they are to be, to do in living. Such then are always followers in living, 
many of such of them have their own being in them, all of such of them 
have some being in them, all of such of them have a measure that deter- 
mines them, they are themselves inside them, they need only come very 
near doing, being some certain thing which is established already as a 
standard for them by some one who did not have any standard to make 
her or him some one and that one is a master and the others having them- 
selves inside them and such a one as a measure for them are schoolmen, 
and now there will be very little description of these things in men and 
women for it is something that is important in the being in David 
Hersland the second son. The important thing now to be discussing is 


concrete and abstract aspiration, concrete and generalised action in many 
men and women of very many kinds of them and now there will be a 
beginning of discussing the feeling in each one of being a bad one, of 
being a good one, the relation of aspiration and action, of generalised 
and concrete aspiration and action. 

It happens very often that a man has it in him, that a man does some- 
thing, that he does it very often, that he does many things, when he is 
a young one and an older one and an old one. It happens very often that 
a man does something, that a man has something in him and he does a 
thing again and again in his living. There was a man who was always 
writing to his daughter that she should not do things that were wrong 
that would disgrace him, she should not do such things and in every let- 
ter that he wrote to her he told her she should not do such things, that he 
was her father and was giving good moral advice to her and always he 
wrote to her in every letter that she should not do things that she should 
not do anything that would disgrace him. He wrote this in every letter 
he wrote to her, he wrote very nicely to her, he wrote often enough to 
her and in every letter he wrote to her that she should not do anything 
that was a disgraceful thing for her to be doing and then once she wrote 
back to him that he had not any right to write moral things in letters 
to her, that he had taught her that he had shown her that he had com- 
menced in her the doing the things things that would disgrace her and he 
had said then when he had begun with her he had said he did it so that 
when she was older she could take care of herself with those who wished 
to make her do things that were wicked things and he would teach her 
and she would be stronger than such girls who had not any way of know- 
ing better, and she wrote this letter and her father got the letter and he 
was a paralytic always after, it was a shock to him getting such a letter, 
he kept saying over and over again that his daughter was trying to kill 
him and now she had done it and at the time he got the letter he was 
sitting by the fire and he threw the letter in the fire and his wife asked 
him what was the matter and he said it is Edith she is killing me, what, 
is she disgracing us said the mother, no said the father, she is killing me 
and that was all he said then of the matter and he never wrote another 

It happens very often that a man has it in him, that a man does some- 
thing, that he does it very often that he does many things, when he 
is a young man, when he is an old man, when he is an older man. Some 


kind of young men do things because they are so good then they want 
every one to be wise enough to take care of themselves and so they do 
some things to them. This is very common and these then are very often 
good enough kind of young men who are very good men in their living. 
There will soon be a little description of one of them. There are then 
very many men and there is then from the generalised virtue and con- 
crete action that is from the nature of them that might make one think 
they were hypocrites in living but they are not although certainly there 
are in living some men wanting to deceive other men but this is not true 
of this kind of them. One of such of these kind of them had a little boy 
and this one, the little son wanted to make a collection of butterflies and 
beetles and it was all exciting to him and it was all arranged then and 
then the father said to the son you are certain this is not a cruel thing that 
you are wanting to be doing, killing things to make collections of them, 
and the son was very disturbed then and they talked about it together 
the two of them and more and more they talked about it then and then 
at last the boy was convinced it was a cruel thing and he said he would 
not do it and his father said the little boy was a noble boy to give up 
pleasure when it was a cruel one. The boy went to bed then and then 
the father when he got up in the early morning saw a wonderfully beau- 
tiful moth in the room and he caught him and he killed him and he 
pinned him and he woke up his son then and showed it to him and he 
said to him "see what a good father I am to have caught and killed this 
one," the boy was all mixed up inside him and then he said he would 
go on with his collecting and that was all there was then of discussing 
and this is a little description of something that happened once and it is 
very interesting. 

Curiosity and suspicion these two things are often very interesting, this 
one that I am now beginning describing had these very completely in 
him, and always then this one had these more simply in him than any 
one knowing him was realising, he had inquisitiveness in him for the 
mere satisfaction of asking and knowing, he had suspicion in him be- 


cause suspicious feeling was a pleasant feeling in him, he used inquisi- 
tiveness and suspicion in living, that is certain, no one knowing him 
could deny that of him, but often he was not using such things, he was 
just inquiring, he was just asking because his attention was caught and 
he liked to know everything and he liked asking and often suspicion was 
in him because suspicion was an easy way to be feeling for him about 
everything and a very pleasant feeling to have inside him. This one was 
of the resisting slightly engulfing kind in men and women, resisting and 
engulfing was equally in him. In many I have been describing engulfing 
is stronger than resisting, in this one resisting and engulfing was pretty 
nearly equally divided in him, he was thick but not too thick not too dry 
in his being, he could take complete impression from everything he was 
learning, he was always asking, he was continually suspecting, he was 
quite successful in living. This is now to be a little a description of the 
questions he was always asking, of the suspicion always in him. 

Some men and women are inquisitive about everything, they are al- 
ways asking, if they see any one with anything they ask what is that 
thing, what is it you are carrying, what are you going to be doing with 
that thing, why have you that thing, where did you get that thing, how 
long will you have that thing, there are very many men and women who 
want to know about anything about everything. I am such a one, I cer- 
tainly am such a one. A very great many like to know a good many 
things, a great many are always asking questions of every one, a great 
many are to very many doing this with intention, a great many have 
intention in their asking, a great many just have their attention caught 
by anything and then they ask the question. Some when they are hear- 
ing any one talking are immediately listening, many would like to know 
what is in letters others are writing and receiving, a great many quite 
honest ones are always wanting to know everything, a great many men 
and women have a good deal suspicion in them about others and this 
has in them not any very precise meaning. A great many are liking to 
know things but do not do much asking, a great many have not any such 
a feeling. A great many have a very great deal of suspiciousness in them, 
a great many have almost not any of this being in them. This one that 
I am now describing was one who was always asking and mostly always 
every one was wondering what was this one meaning by the questions 
he was asking and often later this one would perhaps be using informa- 
tion he had had from asking questions but asking questions in him was 


not a thing in him that came from wanting to be using some time infor- 
mation he was gathering, very often asking questions in him was simply 
from a catching of his attention by something. Once this one asked some 
one he was visiting, just suddenly and this door here does that lead 
into the hall or directly out into the garden and that was all he said 
then about this thing and afterwards every one was thinking he would 
be using this against them but really then this one was wondering did 
the door lead to the hall or directly to a garden. If such a one, one hav- 
ing this kind of a way is of the resisting engulfing type and fairly suc- 
cessful in living and slow and sudden and quite suspicious of every one, 
almost certainly then every one will think it to be true of such a one that 
this one always is asking questions for purposes of winning, perhaps of 
cheating, certainly for some distant manoeuvering. This is very common. 
There are very many having in them rather engulfing rather resisting 
being who are slow and sudden, who are a little absent when any one is 
asking them anything, who are suspicious and quite trusting, who are 
often asking questions for in their being being in slow action and always 
more or less moving they have it that their attention is always a little 
wandering waiting for something inside them to do something and so 
then these of them are very busy having their attention caught by any- 
thing and asking questions about everything and very often every one 
knowing such of them are very suspicious of them and mostly these then 
too have constant suspicion in them as constant as the questioning in 
them. This is very common then with this kind of being. I am not yet 
through with my description of this kind of resisting engulfing men and 

A great many men and women have very much suspicion in them of 
everything of every one. A great many men a great many women have 
steadily suspicion in them of everything of every one. A great many have 
this in them from the beginning of living in them. A great many very 
many of the resisting, dependent independent very earthy men and 
women have complete suspicion, little steady suspicion of everything of 
every one always in them. They do not have it from experiencing in them 
they have it in them as a natural thing, they have it in them like a child 
walking and certain that every step they are going to be tumbling. This 
is very common, very many men very many women very many having 
resisting being in them have it in them to be suspicious always of every 
one of everything. This is in them very often when they are quite kindly 


quite trusting, very many then having resisting being have it to have 
very naturally in them always in them always steadily in them from 
their beginning that they are suspicious of every one of everything, al- 
ways suspicious always steadily suspicious inside them, this one then that 
I am describing has suspicion always in him, there will be now a descrip- 
tion of several of this kind in men and women. I am now going on with 
my description of one, who was naturally a completely suspicious one. 

Many having resisting being have it in them all their living when they 
are beginning and then on to their ending have it to have suspicion al- 
ways naturally in them and this is a natural thing for them to have in 
them because they having resisting being have it in them to be knowing 
that always some one is doing attacking. Resisting being in them is in 
meaning that always some one some where is attacking, resisting being 
is in them in some of them, in very many men in very many women as 
having in them completely naturally always very much suspicion. Very 
many men and women have in them completely all their living very 
complete suspicious feeling very many men and women with resisting 
being. Very many men and women with attacking being have suspicion 
in them completely in them, sometime I will be telling very much of 
them. Very many men and women have hardly any kind of suspicious 
feeling ever in them. There are very many ways of having suspicious 
feeling many kinds of ways many degrees of such feeling, now I am 
giving a not very long description of one having in him very complete 
suspicious feeling, very much suspicious feeling about men, very much 
very complete suspicious feeling about women and this one was quite a 
successful one in living and this one had very much inquisitive feeling 
in him and this one was pretty completely resisting in his being pretty 
completely engulfing in his being and always very many felt it about 
him that every bit of asking in him and every bit of suspicion in him was 
really deep wisdom in him and always then he had completely resisting 
being in him completely engulfing being in him, complete suspicion in 
him, complete inquisitiveness inside him, and always then he had en- 
thusiasm and very much feeling about something and always he was 
asking about everything and always he was having suspicious feeling in 
him and altogether he was sufficiently a wise one, and very often he 
was just asking because he saw something and very often he was just 
suspecting because he had resisting being in him. This is one then that 
is to me a completely interesting one. Every one is to me a completely 


interesting one, this one is to me very completely an interesting one. I 
like feeling the being in this one, sometime yes certainly sometime I will 
be telling all the feeling I have in the complete being in this one. As I am 
saying suspicious feeling is very interesting, very very interesting. Some- 
time later I will tell very much about one kind of them of the resisting 
kind of them that have it in them to have suspicious feeling as a com- 
pletely interesting thing in them. I hope I will not be beginning now to 
tell about this kind of them. Perhaps I will tell a little about such of them 
in among this considerable number of men and women of the resisting 
kind of them I am just now describing. I really do not want to begin now 
about them. I will not begin now about them that is certain. I will com- 
pletely understand them later and will be telling then about them. I cer- 
tainly will not write anything now about them. That is now certain. I 
have been writing now about a considerable number of the considerable 
number I am now describing of the resisting kind of them. I will now 
begin a pretty short description of another one of them. That is to be a 
little description of one having rich resisting being and being a little too 
quick perhaps quite a little too quick in ripening. This one had in him 
quite some inquisitiveness in him, not any suspicion in him. This is to 
be now quite a short description of him. 

This one then as I am saying was of the resisting kind of them, that 
is to say resisting was the way of winning in him, that is to say this one 
was in a way slow in reacting, that is to say this one in a way was need- 
ing to own those this one needed for loving, this was all true and this was 
all not true of this one and this one was completely of resisting being, this 
one was all made completely all of only resisting being. This one then 
really was very early a completely highly developed one, this one was 
very flowing in the completely creating power this one had inside him, 
this one was a quite inquisitive one, this one had hardly any suspicious- 
ness in natural ordinary daily living in him, this one was really not 
owning the one this one needed for his loving. This one as I was saying 
was of the resisting kind of them, not of the engulfing kind of them, of 
completely sensitively resisting being and the resisting being and sensi- 
tive being was pretty nearly equal in this one, it was pretty nearly as sen- 
sitive as resisting but not quite completely so in this one it was a little 
more sensitive than resisting and so this one was quick in developing, 
early in flowering and this one was always trying to be a slower one and 
this one really never was in living a really slow one. This one was as I 


was saying not a suspicious one, resisting being was not strongly enough 
in him as protecting to give to him a suspicious feeling toward everything 
and every one. This one was not really owning the one this one needed 
for his loving. This one could only own one this one needed for loving 
by getting rid of the one this one needed for loving and then this one 
would not be having the one this one needed for loving and then where 
was this one, he was where he needed the one he needed for loving and 
taking her back again made him then lose the power of owning this one, 
the only way he could own this one was by getting rid of this one or by 
secretly letting some other one love him, in this way then this one to 
himself inside him could own the one he needed for loving. He really 
could own the one he needed for loving by sending her away from him, 
he then did not have near him the one he needed for loving, to himself 
inside him then he could own that one by letting, by making some other 
one love him and mostly then he dreamed of this thing, he did this thing. 
This is now a clear complete description of one having resisting being. 

This is now to be a description of another one having resisting being, 
not engulfing resisting being, just resisting being, this one was a very 
nice one, a very pleasant gentle, sensitive, fairly resisting, sometimes an- 
grily resisting one, this one had some suspicion in her in living, this one 
could have very often an injured feeling, this one had quite a good deal 
of inquisitive feeling in her, this one needed to own to a considerable 
degree those this one needed for loving, this one had children and chil- 
dren were to this one a piece of her cut off from her that were as it were 
equal to her and she was as they were, the same in living, thinking, feel- 
ing and being. This one as I was saying was a gentle, often injured, fairly 
angrily resisting one, quite inquisitive, with enough suspicious feeling 
to be defending other ones when it was not at all her business to be inter- 
fering and so this one a very nice a completely in a way honest one could 
do something that was not a pretty thing for this one to be doing. This 
is what this one did once in her living. 

This one that I have been describing had not real suspicious feeling, 
this one was of the resisting kind of them but this one had very much 
more sensitiveness than resisting being and resisting being was in this 
one not a kind of thing to make of this one really a suspicious one. This 
being in this one resisting being in this one was in this one a sense of 
really being gently minute by minute in living and so this one when 
this one was adding up anything would always be adding it by one and 


one and one. This one had it to be very careful in living and always this 
one would be counting everything by one and one and one. Counting 
everything this one was spending by one and one and one and one and 
one and one was in this one resisting being was in this one recognition of 
real existing of everything. This one could have very much injured feel- 
ing, this one could have injured feeling very often could have it for her- 
self for other ones for any one and this one sometimes was very mixed 
up in doing anything by injured feeling for one and not for another one 
and for that other one then and for this one herself this one inside this 
one then and this one then was sufficiently complicated by injured feel- 
ing inside this one and injured feeling was the only complicated thing 
in the being and in the living of this one. This one was as I was saying a 
very gentle a very sensitive one, this one was a resisting one, this one was 
not at all an engulfing one, this one from the mixing of a little softly 
resisting being and very much gentle and sensitive being had in this one 
suspicion only as injured feeling. Some having this kind of being and 
having sensitiveness not delicately and sensitively in them and resisting 
slightly engulfing in them are completely suspicious and completely in- 
jured always in their living and these very often have it in them to hav- 
ing being persecuted as a mania in them. There are very many having 
such being in them, later I will be telling a few little things that some- 
times are happening in living in the living of this kind of men this kind 
of women. As I was saying this one I am now just a little describing 
was not at all not even a little bit an engulfing one, this one was a softly 
resisting one a really earthy one really feeling always in living that exist- 
ing anything existing is really there in being and always this one was 
doing all the counting this one ever was doing by counting one and then 
one and then one and then one. This one as I was saying had not really 
suspicious being, this one as I was saying had much and quite often very 
warmly really injured feeling, for herself in herself, for some other one, 
for any other one and this injured feeling was in the being of this one 
the only complication. Once some one, a young cousin, this one I am 
describing was then coming to the beginning of the middle living in 
this one, once a young cousin told this one, the cousin was very fond 
of this one, that the cousin never wanted to be eating dinner at the house 
of another one another cousin of this one, that he liked very much in- 
deed being with his cousin but he did not like it at all for a place to be 
dining, this was then all that was said just then. Later then the first 


cousin the one that said this to the one I have been describing, asked this 
cousin who had just come to be engaged to be married then to come and 
take dinner with him. This one then the cousin asked to dine by the 
other cousin of the one I am describing happened to mention to the one 
I am describing that he was going to be dining next week with this 
cousin. This one I am now describing had then completely inside this 
one an injured feeling for this one that was going to be dining with the 
other one that this one should be going to be dining with the other one 
when the other one would not dine with that one because it was not a 
pleasant thing and so this one I am describing told the one going to be 
dining with the other one what that one had said about dining with him. 
Then of course this one would not dine with the other one. And all this 
came from there being in this one I am describing a soft resisting, a 
gentle sensitive being with not any suspiciousness in being and not any 
engulfing and not any egotism so that this one had to have in this one 
that everything that could be aggression or suspicion or worldliness in 
living or individual feeling was in this one injured feeling, a very little 
angry and a very much hurt feeling and so this one had injured feeling 
quite often and very much for this one, for some other one, for any other 

I will describe now very little a very different kind of one from that 
one I have been just describing. There will not be then very many more 
of them of the considerable number left then. There will perhaps then 
still be left about six of them, six kinds of them and perhaps there will 
be added a few more to make another generalisation but really there have 
been already done a considerable part of the considerable number of the 
resisting kind of them that I am now describing. 

This one then is quite a different kind of a one from the last one I 
was describing. This one as a whole one is like a cannon-ball lying on a 
bag of cotton, the cannon-ball lying on a cotton bag as a complete thing 
was the whole of this one. This is in a way a description of this one, there 
will be now a very little more description of this one. 

Children are always thinking are very often thinking that their 
mothers are very lovely looking and that is very often because mostly 
the child is always close up to the mother close to her when the child is 
looking and mostly being close like that as a habitual thing is to find 
that one a lovely thing a lovely looking one. 

This one that I was saying was a whole one which was like a can- 


non-ball resting on a bag of cotton was the cotton part finding the 
cannon-ball lovely looking being always so close to that thing and the 
cannon-ball was finding the cotton lovely looking that being so closely 
always to that thing. To explain then. This one then was one having 
solid enough dull not very lively, not lively at all fairly dry resisting 
bottom, a bottom that might have been engulfing if it had been a lively 
dark wet thing, but this was not true of it then at all that it was engulfing, 
it was entirely not engulfing. As I was saying many having engulfing 
being and not having resisting being enough in them are very aspiring 
and this one then had aspiration like what might have been engulfing 
in the bottom being the bottom being which was not at all engulfing. 
Some of this kind of them have it as a bottom being something that is 
more nearly engulfing and these then have more active aspiration as 
ambition, these have then more nearly some power of very nearly en- 
gulfing something but this one was as little engulfing as such a kind of 
them can be in living, just as amiable and ideal in aspiration and aspira- 
tion in this one as I was saying was like the cannon-ball resting on the 
bag of cotton, it was completely beautiful always to all that cotton and 
this one was always living near light and beauty near to the aspiration, 
the cannon-ball and this one was then as I was saying amiable in inten- 
tion and clear and large worded and hesitating in expression. This one 
is an interesting enough one. I am knowing quite well three of these of 
them, one is more nearly engulfing, one has of him the very largest size 
in bags of cotton, one and this is the one I am realising in now describ- 
ing was a little skimped in the cotton foundation. This is not a funny 
description, I was not certain I should say anything of the cannon-ball 
and the cotton, I was almost certain I would not say anything in this de- 
scription about the cannon-ball and the cotton, it was not in me a natu- 
ral way of conceiving any one, some one conceived this one as a cannon- 
ball resting on a bag of cotton, I used that in my description, this is not 
to me a natural way of talking, I have been using it here as I am saying. 
Now I will begin describing another one and that will be leaving only 
a few more to be describing of the considerable number of them that I 
have been describing of the resisting kind of them. This one that I am 
now beginning describing is of the resisting and sensitive and suspicious 
kind of them and now I will be telling a few stories about such of them. 
It is very hard with some to be realising what kind they are this kind 
of them when they are quite old ones. It is a very difficult thing to be 


realising of some kinds of them one has been knowing before the be- 
ginning of their middle living what they are as old ones, these in living. 
When one is oneself a fairly old one, one will be knowing a little more 
perhaps of this thing, one is knowing a little of something of this thing 
from old relations one is knowing and one knowing all the family of 
these then is perhaps a little knowing what these are as younger ones 
in living. These that I am now describing are a kind of them that when 
they are old ones no one is paying much attention to them. They have 
then as old ones the same being in them I am now describing, they are 
mostly not any too successfully living all their living, they have when 
they are old ones the same being in them, mostly then not very many 
then are paying much attention to them then, these when they are old 
ones in living, these that I am now describing. 

These then that I am now describing are a kind of them that have 
sensitiveness that is complete suspicion in them, these are of the kind 
of them that are themselves completely important to themselves inside 
them, they have resistance in them much less than sensitiveness as sus- 
picion in them. Suspicion in these of them comes out of the sensitiveness 
of them before the sensitiveness in them gives to them inside them really 
an emotion and so in these in living suspicion is as it were the whole of 
them, the complete emotion always in them. This sensitiveness in them 
that is in them a suspicion before it is an emotion in them from anything 
is always every moment in such of them. That these have it in them 
that sensitiveness makes for them suspicion before they have from any- 
thing a complete emotion is the reason that these mostly are not very suc- 
cessful in living, they are a little successful many of them and when they 
are older ones or old ones, no one, not any one is paying much attention 
to them. These then in a way are not really earthy, not really resisting, 
not at all engulfing, these then in a way are not certain that dead is dead, 
that things really are existing, these can have superstition and religion 
and prudence and fear and almost a crazy kind of thinking in them. 
This is now some stories about some of them. 

I feel it and I brood over it and it comes then very simply from me, 
do you see how simply it comes out of me, you see, I feel it and I think 
about it and then I know it and I know then it is a simple thing, why are 
you always saying then it is a complicated one when really it is a very 
simple one this thing, do you see now it is a very simple thing this thing, 
do you see that this is a simple thing like everything why then should 


you make of it a complicated thing when it is a simple thing, do you see 
now that it is a simple thing this thing, why do you make everything a 
complicated thing, do you see, this is a simple thing, everything is a sim- 
ple thing, you make everything a complicated thing when everything is 
a simple thing, do you see, it is a simple thing, you say it is a complicated 
thing, do you see, everything is a simple thing that is certain, do you see, 
that is certain. Very many are always saying this thing, it is very com- 
mon, to be certain, to be really certain that some one is really feeling 
thinking seeing that that one is really feeling thinking seeing what that 
one really is seeing feeling thinking is certainly a quite rare thing. Mostly 
then it is a difficult thing, a patient solemn thing to be really certain that 
any one is really feeling seeing thinking believing what that one in the 
way that one really is feeling thinking seeing believing is feeling think- 
ing seeing believing anything. These then I am now describing who are 
completely for themselves suspicious ones, who have it in them to have 
emotion in them become suspicion before it is a real emotion of anything 
for anything about anything in them, these have it completely to be 
certain that every one is doing feeling seeing the thing that one is feel- 
ing doing seeing believing when such a one is not agreeing with them, 
when such a one is feeling thinking believing doing anything that such 
a one is doing that thing for a mean or wicked or jealous or stupid or 
obstinate or cursed or religious reason, it is not a real feeling believing 
seeing realising, that this one having suspicion in him is certain. One of 
such a kind of one once liked very well some one and then that one for- 
got to give this one five cents that this one had paid for that one and 
then this one hated that one, had no trust in that one for this one was 
certain that that one knowing that this one was too sensitive to be ask- 
ing did not think it necessary to pay that one, he never could believe 
that any one forgot such a thing. This is an extreme thing of a way of 
feeling that is common to all of these of them. Another one once was 
always certain that some one who one time told him that he would 
sometime later be successful in teaching meant it that he would not be 
successful in painting and that this was because that one was jealous 
of this one although that one had just met this one. This one was cer- 
tain that every one sometime would do a mean thing to him and al- 
ways each one to him sometime did this thing. Once one said to him I 
hope you will be successful in the city where you are going to earn your 
living. That means that you think my way of working rotten, you know 


very well no one making a living there is doing good work to your 
thinking, it would be a better thing to say what you are thinking straight 
out, said this one. One of such a kind of them was always asking and 
always getting and always he was certain that every one was doing the 
thing they were doing because they wanted to make of him a poor thing 
and some of such of them are always having difficulty with partners and 
others and any one and then as I am saying when they are older ones 
not any one pays very much attention to them. These are some and more 
or less like them are very many a very great many always living who 
have it in them that anything to them makes an emotion that is sus- 
picion before it is real emotion in them. 

In some connected with them, sensitiveness that in these I have been 


just describing turns into suspicion before it is sensation or emotion 
about a person, a thing clone, or anything, in these turns into cleverness 
in them or self-protection in the sense of doing nothing and breaking 
all engagements and giving up all obligation. In some it turns before 
it is really a sensation into a sensual passion. This is all very interest- 
ing surely to any one really believing really being certain completely cer- 
tain that different ones are different in kind from other kinds of them are 
really different in experiencing. This is in a way a very difficult thing 
to really truly believe in one, that some one really has a completely differ- 
ent kind of a way of feeling a thing from another one. Mostly every 
one in practical living needs only to be completely realising their own 
experiencing and then need only to be realising other ones experiencing 
enough to be using them, the ones experiencing. It is a very difficult 
thing to really believe it of another one what the other one is really feel- 
ing, it is such a very long learning anybody must be having to be really 
to be actually believing this thing. I do this thing. I am a rare one, I 
know this always more in living. I know always more in living that 
other ones are really believing what they are believing, feeling, what 
they are feeling, thinking, what they are thinking, always more and 
more in living I know I am a rare one. There are not very many having 
this very completely really in them. 

To go on now then describing a little more some of these I have been 
last mentioning. Some of these are having their sensitiveness making 
of them clever, or self-protecting, or sexually wanting anything, without 
having really emotion from the thing from the sensitiveness in them. 
These are of the resisting kind of them and might to some seem to be en- 


gulfing but they are not really resisting or engulfing. Sensitiveness turns 
into suspicion, cleverness, self-protection, sexual action before it comes 
as an emotion and these mostly then never have sensitiveness in them 
leading to emotion by reaction to a person or thing or action. These then 
are interesting. To be telling then now a little more of some of them. 

These then all of them have it in them that everything turns inside 
them to suspicion, to cleverness, to self-protection, to sexual emotion, 
to sensibility of a kind that is a thing that is called sentimental, before 
it comes to produce emotion from the thing about the thing in relation 
to the thing itself inside them. There is one, I knew this one quite very 
well once and last week again I was seeing this one and now I am quite 
a good deal understanding this one, this is one and in this one everything 
was in this one sensibility of a sentimental kind, this was in this one not 
very much as suspicion as I was saying it is in some, and in this one every- 
thing, nothing had any meaning excepting as arousing a feeling of sen- 
timental sensibility that was the same thing whatever was the thing that 
came to this one as touching this one. This one was pretty completely 
to every one completely socially one and this is quite a common thing. 
Sometime a history of her and her. two mothers and her sister will be 
written and I have been telling that it will be written to several of them. 
She was as I was saying completely such a one and as a younger one 
was sharp and interesting and then she was a married one and then 
she was large and dull. This was after she succeeded fairly at the be- 
ginning of her middle living in coming to be a married one. She had 
not then any reaction at all in living for she was then in her married 
living living with bottom being reacting and there was no bottom being 
in her, living, at all in her then and every one said it was such a surpris- 
ing thing that she should be then so completely a submissive and indif- 
ferent and inefficient and a little a timid one then when she had been 
before her being a married one so altogether an emotional and dark, 
expressive and clever one but it was just this thing that I am saying that 
I am now pretty well understanding that makes it a completely a natural 
thing, she had not ever had anything that did not turn to sensibility 
before it reached her in her and when she was a tired one and married 
and fatter then there was not this then. She is an interesting one, really 
she is a very interesting one, she is quite a pretty ugly one now but not 
in any way now an active one as now I am completely realising. It is an 
interesting history the history of all of this kind of them. It is a very in- 


teresting thing the history of this one. The complete family living of 
this one is a thing I could make a remarkably interesting thing to any 
one, that is certain. I have been telling that to this one. This one did not 
like very much to hear me say that thing, it is a certain thing that it is 
an interesting thing to me and I could tell it so to every one, I have been 
telling it to this one that I can make it a completely interesting thing. 
This one was not liking it very well then. Sometime I will be feeling 
completely the telling of it and then I will be telling it, I have told this 
one that I will tell it then. This one will not know then it is this one. That 
is the very nice thing in this writing. Sometime I will tell everything, 
everything. Mostly I do tell anything. 

One of this kind of them I have been describing has it that every- 
thing is in her as cleverness, or self-protection from any stimulation, 
never an emotion about a thing. This one would, if she could, have real 
emotion but it never is even a little bit in her of herself, inside her. Some- 
times it is, a moment, a real feeling in her, something from something, 
when it is made to be in her by some one by force holding her from hav- 
ing it turn into cleverness, suspicion, sentimental believing, self-protec- 
tion and so giving it a chance to sink into her so that she has a reaction 
to it really in her. This has a few times happened to her. This one is 
always feeling that some one should do this for her. Holding her from 
being her way in her so that emotion can be in her has been done for her. 
She never can do this for herself, ever. She is in her feeling certain that 
every one in this way should be doing for her. She is all her living need- 
ing that some one do this thing. She has it in her as a feeling that the 
world owes it to her to do this for her. She has not ever any really grate- 
ful feeling, she has only the emotion that some one wins in her for her. 
It is an interesting game to play in her and very many do it for her. Then 
they lose the power and she has to have another. She does not know that 
she is certain that the world owes this to her. 

This one then would have it in her to be certain that to be dead was 
not to be at all really a dead one, this was what this one wanted to have 
in her as realisation, as emotion, this conviction is what this one was very 
certain the world owed her. This is what this one wanted that she should 
have in her, have as emotion inside her, this emotion in her is what every 
one knowing should do for her inside her. Very many coming to know 
her tried to give it to her, always she was wanting to have this inside 
her, the conviction, the emotion that to be dead was not to be really a 


dead one. This was the history of the living in her. She had in her as 
I was saying to have it that nothing gave to her really an emotion about 
that thing. Every thing touching her aroused in her suspicion, clever- 
ness and self-protection. She wanted to have conviction and emotion 
that to be dead is not to be really truly a dead one. She wanted this in 
her, this realisation and emotion, in her, and then too she would be cer- 
tain, she knew then she would then be really certain completely certain 
that every one was a very much better one than each one really was in 
living. She was certain, pretty nearly certain that if she were really com- 
pletely certain that she was really knowing that to be dead was not to 
be at all a really dead one she would then be knowing that every one 
living was really a very much better one than each one really is living 
and this would be a very pleasant feeling for her to be having. Always 
then she was needing to be completely certain that she was really know- 
ing that to be dead was not to be really at all a dead one and always she 
was unconsciously feeling that the world owed it to her to give her this 
realisation. This was a history of her. Perhaps she never came really to 
have it in her, perhaps she came to have it a little in her, always some 
one was working in her for her, this is a history of her. This is an amus- 
ing thing, this history of this one. Sometime a very detailed history of 
this one will be an amusing thing to be writing, to be reading. Now I 
will not tell any more detail of this one. 

Three Portraits of Painters 


The portraits of Matisse and Picasso were originally published in the 
August, 1912, issue of CAMERA WORK and later were reprinted in 
PORTRAITS AND PRAYERS, 79^. Stieglitz told me recently that he had ac- 
cepted them for publication as soon as he had looked them over, prin- 
cipally because he did not immediately understand them. These por- 
traits, the earliest examples of Gertrude Stein s "difficult" wor\ to reach 
the public, were much commented on and satirized. In LECTURES IN 
AMERICA she has explained: "I continued to do what I was doing in THE 
MAKING OF AMERICANS, / was doing what the cinema was doing, I was 
making a continuous succession of the statement of what that person 
was until I had not many things but one thing! 9 


The Irish lady can say, that to-day is every day. Caesar can say that every 
day is to-day and they say that every day is as they say. 

In this way we have a place to stay and he was not met because he 
was settled to stay. When I said settled I meant settled to stay. When I 
said settled to stay I meant settled to stay Saturday. In this way a mouth 
is a mouth. In this way if in as a mouth if in as a mouth where, if in as 
a mouth where and there. Believe they have water too. Believe they have 
that water too and blue when you see blue, is all blue precious too, is all 
that that is precious too is all that and they meant to absolve you. In this 
way Cezanne nearly did nearly in this way. Cezanne nearly did nearly did 
and nearly did. And was I surprised. Was I very surprised. Was I sur- 
prised. I was surprised and in that patient, are you patient when you find 
bees. Bees in a garden make a specialty of honey and so does honey. 
Honey and prayer. Honey and there. There where the grass can grow 
nearly four times yearly. 


One was quite certain that for a long part of his being one being living 
he had been trying to be certain that he was wrong in doing what he 
was doing and then when he could not come to be certain that he had 
been wrong in doing what he had been doing, when he had completely 
convinced himself that he would not come to be certain that he had 



been wrong in doing what he had been doing he was really certain then 
that he was a great one and he certainly was a great one. Certainly every 
one could be certain of this thing that this one is a great one. 

Some said of him, when anybody believed in him they did not then 
believe in any other one. Certainly some said this of him. 

He certainly very clearly expressed something. Some said that he did 
not clearly express anything. Some were certain that he expressed some- 
thing very clearly and some of such of them said that he would have 
been a greater one if he had not been one so clearly expressing what he 
was expressing. Some said he was not clearly expressing what he was 
expressing and some of such of them said that the greatness of strug- 
gling which was not clear expression made of him one being a com- 
pletely great one. 

Some said of him that he was greatly expressing something strug- 
gling. Some said of him that he was not greatly expressing something 

He certainly was clearly expressing something, certainly sometime 
any one might come to know that of him. Very many did come to know 
it of him that he was clearly expressing what he was expressing. He was 
a great one. Any one might come to know that of him. Very many did 
come to know that of him. Some who came to know that of him, that 
he was a great one, that he was clearly expressing something, came then 
to be certain that he was not greatly expressing something being strug- 
gling. Certainly he was expressing something being struggling. Any 
one could be certain that he was expressing something being struggling. 
Some were certain that he was greatly expressing this thing. Some were 
certain that he was not greatly expressing this thing. Every one could 
come to be certain that he was a great man. Any one could come to be 
certain that he was clearly expressing something. 

Some certainly were wanting to be needing to be doing what he was 
doing, that is clearly expressing something. Certainly they were willing 
to be wanting to be a great one. They were, that is some of them, were 
not wanting to be needing expressing anything being struggling. And 
certainly he was one not greatly expressing something being struggling, 
he was a great one, he was clearly expressing something. Some were 
wanting to be doing what he was doing that is clearly expressing some- 
thing. Very many were doing what he was doing, not greatly express- 


ing something being struggling. Very many were wanting to be doing 
what he was doing were not wanting to be expressing anything being 

There were very many wanting to be doing what he was doing that 
is to be one clearly expressing something. He was certainly a great man, 
any one could be really certain of this thing, every one could be cer- 
tain of this thing. There were very many who were wanting to be ones 
doing what he was doing that is to be ones clearly expressing some- 
thing and then very many of them were not wanting to be being ones 
doing that thing, that is clearly expressing something, they wanted to 
be ones expressing something being struggling, something being going 
to. be some other thing, something being going to be something some 
one sometime would be clearly expressing and that would be something 
that would be a thing then that would then be greatly expressing some 
other thing then that thing, certainly very many were then not want- 
ing to be doing what this one was doing clearly expressing something 
and some of them had been ones wanting to be doing that thing want- 
ing to be ones clearly expressing something. Some were wanting to be 
ones doing what this one was doing wanted to be ones clearly expressing 
something. Some of such of them were ones certainly clearly expressing 
something, that was in them a thing not really interesting then any 
other one. Some of such of them went on being all their living ones 
wanting to be clearly expressing something and some of them were 
clearly expressing something. 

This one was one very many were knowing some and very many were 
glad to meet him, very many sometimes listened to him, some listened 
to him very often, there were some who listened to him, and he talked 
then and he told them then that certainly he had been one suffering 
and he was then being one trying to be certain that he was wrong in 
doing what he was doing and he had come then to be certain that he 
never would be certain that he was doing what it was wrong for him 
to be doing then and he was suffering then and he was certain that he 
would be one doing what he was doing and he was certain that he 
should be one doing what he was doing and he was certain that he would 
always be one suffering and this then made him certain this, that he 
would always be one being suffering, this made him certain that he 
was expressing something being struggling and certainly very many 


were quite certain that he was greatly expressing something being strug- 
gling. This one was knowing some who were listening to him and he 
was telling very often about being one suffering and this was not a 
dreary thing to any one hearing that then, it was not a saddening thing 
to any one hearing it again and again, to some it was quite an interest- 
ing thing hearing it again and again, to some it was an exciting thing 
hearing it again and again, some knowing this one and being certain 
that this one was a great man and was one clearly expressing something 
were ones hearing this one telling about being one being living were 
hearing this one telling this thing again and again. Some who were 
ones knowing this one and were ones certain that this one was one who 
was clearly telling something, was a great man, we/e not listening very 
often to this one telling again and again about being one being living. 
Certainly some who were certain that this one was a great man and 
one clearly expressing something and greatly expressing something 
being struggling were listening to this one telling about being living 
telling about this again and again and again. Certainly very many know- 
ing this one and being certain that this one was a great man and that 
this one was clearly telling something were not listening to this one 
telling about being living, were not listening to this one telling this 
again and again. 

This one was certainly a great man, this one was certainly clearly ex- 
pressing something. Some were certain that this one was clearly express- 
ing something being struggling, some were certain that this one was 
not greatly expressing something being struggling. 

Very many were not listening again and again to this one telling 
about being one being living. Some were listening again and again to 
this one telling about this one being one being in living. 

Some were certainly wanting to be doing what this one was doing 
that is were wanting to be ones clearly expressing something. Some of 
such of them did not go on in being ones wanting to be doing what 
this one was doing that is in being ones clearly expressing something. 
Some went on being ones wanting to be doing what this one was doing 
that is, being ones clearly expressing something. Certainly this one was 
one who was a great man. Any one could be certain of this thing. Every 
one would come to be certain of this thing. This one was one certainly 
clearly expressing something. Any one could come to be certain of this 


thing. Every one would come to be certain of this thing. This one was 
one, some were quite certain, one greatly expressing something being 
struggling. This one was one, some were quite certain, one not greatly 
expressing something being struggling. 


One whom some were certainly following was one who was completely 
charming. One whom some were certainly following was one who was 
charming. One whom some were following was one who was com- 
pletely charming. One whom some were following was one who was 
certainly completely charming. 

Some were certainly following and were certain that the one they 
were then following was one working and was one bringing out of 
himself then something. Some were certainly following and were cer- 
tain that the one they were then following was one bringing out of him- 
self then something that was coming to be a heavy thing, a solid thing 
and a complete thing. 

One whom some were certainly following was one working and cer- 
tainly was one bringing something out of himself then and was one 
who had been all his living had been one having something coming 
out of him. 

Something had been coming out of him, certainly it had been coming 
out of him, certainly it was something, certainly it had been coming 
out of him and it had meaning, a charming meaning, a solid meaning, a 
struggling meaning, a clear meaning. 

One whom some were certainly following and some were certainly 
following him, one whom some were certainly following was one cer- 
tainly working. 

One whom some were certainly following was one having something 


coming out of him something having meaning and this one was cer- 
tainly working then. 

This one was working and something was coming then, something 
was coming out of this one then. This one was one and always there 
was something coming out of this one and always there had been some- 
thing coming out of this one. This one had never been one not having 
something coming out of this one. This one was one having something 
coming out of this one. This one had been one whom some were follow- 
ing. This one was one whom some were following. This one was being 
one whom some were following. This one was one who was working. 

This one was one who was working. This one was one being one 
having something being coming out of him. This .one was one going 
on having something come out of him. This one was one going on work- 
ing. This one was one whom some were following. This one was one 
who was working. 

This one always had something being coming out of this one. This 
one was working. This one always had been working. This one was 
always having something that was coming out of this one that was a 
solid thing, a charming thing, a lovely thing, a perplexing thing, a dis- 
concerting thing, a simple thing, a cleaj- thing, a complicated thing, an 
interesting thing, a disturbing thing, a repellant thing, a very pretty 
thing. This one was one certainly being one having something coming 
out of him. This one was one whom some were following. This one was 
one who was working. 

This one was one who was working and certainly this one was need- 
ing to be working so as to be one being working. This one was one 
having something coming out of him. This one would be one all his 
living having something coming out of him. This one was working and 
then this one was working and this one was needing to be working, not 
to be one having something coming out of him something having 
meaning, but was needing to be working so as to be one working. 

This one was certainly working and working was something this one 
was certain this one would be doing and this one was doing that thing, 
this one was working. This one was not one completely working. This 
one was not ever completely working. This one certainly was not com- 
pletely working. 

This one was one having always something being coming out of him, 
something having completely a real meaning. This one was one whom 


some were following. This one was one who was working. This one 
was one who was working and he was one needing this thing needing 
to be working so as to be one having some way of being one having 
some way of working. This one was one who was working. This one 
was one having something come out of him something having mean- 
ing. This one was one always having something come out of him and 
this thing the thing coming out of him always had real meaning. This 
one was one who was working. This one was one who was almost 
always working. This one was not one completely working. This one 
was one not ever completely working. This one was not one working 
to have anything come out of him. He always did have something having 
meaning that did come out of him. He always did have something come 
out of him. He was working, he was not ever completely working. He 
did have some following. They were always following him. Some were 
certainly following him. He was one who was working. He was one 
having something coming out of him something having meaning. He 
was not ever completely working. 



This, the second story in THREE LIVES, published first in 1909 and fre- 
quently reprinted since, is probably the most generally admired, and 
possibly the best known, wor\ of Miss Stein. Richard Wright has called 
4t "the first long serious literary treatment of Negro life in the United 
States." In his review of WARS I HAVE SEEN published in PM, March n, 
1945, the author of BLACK BOY further comments on this story: 
"Prompted by random curiosity while I was browsing one day in a Chi- 
cago Public Library, I tooJ^ from the open shelves a tiny volume called 
THREE LIVES and looked at a story in it, entitled MELANCTHA. The style 
was so insistent and original and sang so quaintly that I too\ the book 

"As 1 read it my ears were opened for the first 'time to the magic of 
the spoken word. I began to hear the speech of my grandmother, who 
spol^e a deep, pure Negro dialect and with whom I had lived for many 

"All of my life I had been only half hearing, but Miss Stein's strug* 
gling words made the speech of the people around me vivid. From that 
moment on, in my attempts at writing, I was able to tap at will the vast 
pool of living words that swirled around me. 

"But in the midst of my delight, I was jolted. A left-wing literary 
critic, whose judgment I had been led to respect, condemned Miss Stein 
in a sharply-worded newspaper article, implying that she spent her days 
reclining upon a silken couch in Paris smoking hashish, that she was 
a hopeless prey to hallucinations and that her tortured verbalisms were 
throttling the Revolution. I was disturbed. Had I duped myself into 
worshiping decadence? 

fi Believing in direct action, I contrived a method to gauge the degree 
to which Miss Stein s prose was tainted with the spirit of counter-revo- 
lution. I gathered a group of semi-literate Negro stockyard workers 
'basic proletarians with the instinct for revolution 9 (am I quoting right?) 
into a Blac\ Belt basement and read MELANCTHA aloud to them. They 
understood every word. Enthralled, they slapped their thighs, howled, 
laughed, stomped, and interrupted me constantly to comment upon the 

"My fondness for Steinian prose never distressed me after that! 9 

Each One As She May 

Rose Johnson made it very hard to bring her baby to its birth. 

Melanctha Herbert who was Rose Johnson's friend, did everything 
that any woman could. She tended Rose, and she was patient, submis- 
sive, soothing, and untiring, while the sullen, childish, cowardly, black 
Rosie grumbled and fussed and howled and made herself to be an 
abomination and like a simple beast. 

The child though it was healthy after it was born, did not live long. 
Rose Johnson was careless and negligent and selfish, and when 
Melanctha had to leave for a few days, the baby died. Rose Johnson 
had liked the baby well enough and perhaps she just forgot it for awhile, 
anyway the child was dead and Rose and Sam her husband were very 
sorry but then these things came so often in the negro world in Bridge- 
point, that they neither of them thought about it very long. 

Rose Johnson and Melanctha Herbert had been friends now for some 
years. Rose had lately married Sam Johnson a decent honest kindly 
fellow, a deck hand on a coasting steamer. 

Melanctha Herbert had not yet been really married. 

Rose Johnson was a real black, tall, well built, sullen, stupid, child- 
like, good looking negress. She laughed when she was happy and grum- 
bled and was sullen with everything that troubled. 

Rose Johnson was a real black negress but she had been brought up 
quite like their own child by white folks. 

Rose laughed when she was happy but she had not the wide, aban- 
doned laughter that makes the warm broad glow of negro sunshine. 
Rose was never joyous with the earth-born, boundless joy of negroes. 
Hers was just ordinary, any sort of woman laughter. 

Rose Johnson was careless and was lazy, but she had been brought 
up by white folks and she needed decent comfort. Her white training 
had only made for habits, not for nature. Rose had the simple, promis- 
cuous unmorality of the black people. 



Rose Johnson and Melanctha Herbert like many of the twos with 
women were a curious pair to be such friends. 

Melanctha Herbert was a graceful, pale yellow, intelligent, attractive 
negress. She had not been raised like Rose by white folks but then she 
had been half made with real white blood. 

She and Rose Johnson were both of the better sort of negroes, there, 
in Bridgepoint. 

"No, I ain't no common nigger," said Rose Johnson, "for I was raised 
by white folks, and Melanctha she is so bright and learned so much 
in school, she ain't no common nigger either, though she ain't got no 
husband to be married to like I am to Sam Johnson." 

Why did the subtle, intelligent, attractive, half white girl Melanctha 
Herbert love and do for and demean herself in service to this coarse, 
decent, sullen, ordinary, black childish Rose, and why was this unmoral, 
promiscuous, shiftless Rose married, and that's not so common either, 
to a good man of the negroes, while Melanctha with her white blood 
and attraction and her desire for a right position had not yet been really 

Sometimes the thought of how all her world was made, filled the 
complex, desiring Melanctha with despair. She wondered, often, how 
she could go on living when she was so blue. 

Melanctha told Rose one day how a woman whom she knew had 
killed herself because she was so blue. Melanctha said, sometimes, she 
thought this was the best thing for her herself to do. 

Rose Johnson did not see it the least bit that way. 

"I don't see Melanctha why you should talk like you would kill your- 
self just because you're blue. I'd never kill myself Melanctha just 'cause 
I was blue. I'd maybe kill somebody else Melanctha 'cause I was blue, 
but I'd never kill myself. If I ever killed myself Melanctha it'd be by 
accident, and if I ever killed myself by accident Melanctha, I'd be awful 

Rose Johnson and Melanctha Herbert had first met, one night, at 
church. Rose Johnson did not care much for religion. She had not 
enough emotion to be really roused by a revival. Melanctha Herbert 
had not come yet to know how to use religion. She was still too complex 
with desire. However, the two of them in negro fashion went very often 
to the negro church, along with all their friends, and they slowly came 
to know each other very well. 


Rose Johnson had been raised not as a servant but quite like their 
own child by white folks. Her mother who had died when Rose was 
still a baby, had been a trusted servant in the family. Rose was a cute, 
attractive, good looking little black girl and these people had no children 
of their own and so they kept Rose in their house. 

As Rose grew older she drifted from her white folks back to the 
colored people, and she gradually no longer lived in the old house. 
Then it happened that these people went away to some other town to 
live, and somehow Rose stayed behind in Bridgepoint. Her white folks 
left a little money to take care of Rose, and this money she got every 
little while. 

Rose now in the easy fashion of the poor lived with one woman in her 
house, and then for no reason went and lived with some other woman 
in her house. All this time, too, Rose kept company, and was engaged, 
first to this colored man and then to that and always she made sure she 
was engaged, for Rose had strong the sense of proper conduct. 

"No, I ain't no common nigger just to go around with any man, nor 
you Melanctha shouldn't neither," she said one day when she was telling 
the complex and less sure Melanctha what was the right way for her 
to do. "No Melanctha, I ain't no common nigger to do so, for I was 
raised by white folks. You know very well Melanctha that I'se always 
been engaged to them." 

And so Rose lived on, always comfortable and rather decent and very 
lazy and very well content. 

After she had lived some time this way, Rose thought it would be 
nice and very good in her position to get regularly really married. She 
had lately met Sam Johnson somewhere, and she liked him and she 
knew he was a good man, and then he had a place where he worked 
every day and got good wages. Sam Johnson liked Rose very well and 
he was quite ready to be married. One day they had a grand real wed- 
ding and were married. Then with Melanctha Herbert's help to do the 
sewing and the nicer work, they furnished comfortably a little red brick 
house. Sam then went back to his work as deck hand on a coasting 
steamer, and Rose stayed home in her house and sat and bragged to all 
her friends how nice it was to be married really to a husband. 

Life went on very smoothly with them all the year. Rose was lazy 
but not dirty and Sam was careful but not fussy, and then there was 
Melanctha to come in every day and help to keep things neat. 


When Rose's baby was coming to be born, Rose came to stay in the 
house where Melanctha Herbert lived just then, with a big good natured 
colored woman who did washing. 

Rose went there to stay, so that she might have the doctor from the 
hospital near by to help her have the baby, and then, too, Melanctha 
could attend to her while she was sick. 

Here the baby was born, and here it died, and then Rose went back 
to her house again with Sam. 

Melanctha Herbert had not made her life all simple like Rose John- 
son. Melanctha had not found it easy with herself to make her wants 
and what she had, agree. 

Melanctha Herbert was always losing what she had in wanting all 
the things she saw. Melanctha was always being left when she was not 
leaving others. 

Melanctha Herbert always loved too hard and much too often. She 
was always full with mystery and subtle movements and denials and 
vague distrusts and complicated disillusions. Then Melanctha would 
be sudden and impulsive and unbounded in some faith, and then she 
would suffer and be strong in her repression. 

Melanctha Herbert was always seeking rest and quiet, and always 
she could only find new ways to be in trouble. 

Melanctha wondered often how it was she did not kill herself when 
she was so blue. Often she thought this would be really the best way for 
her to do. 

Melanctha Herbert had been raised to be religious, by her mother. 
Melanctha had not liked her mother very well. This mother, 'Mis' Her- 
bert, as her neighbors called her, had been a sweet appearing and dig- 
nified and pleasant, pale yellow, colored woman. 'Mis' Herbert had 
always been a little wandering and mysterious and uncertain in her 

Melanctha was pale yellow and mysterious and a little pleasant like 
her mother, but the real power in Melanctha's nature came through her 
robust and unpleasant and very unendurable black father. 

Melanctha's father only used to come to where Melanctha and her 
mother lived, once in a while. 

It was many years now that Melanctha had not heard or seen or known 
of anything her father did. 

Melanctha Herbert almost always hated her black father, but she 


loved very well the power in herself that came through him. And so her 
feeling was really closer to her black coarse father, than her feeling had 
ever been toward her pale yellow, sweet-appearing mother. The things 
she had in her of her mother never made her feel respect. 

Melanctha Herbert had not loved herself in childhood. All of her 
youth was bitter to remember. 

Melanctha had not loved her father and her mother and they had 
found it very troublesome to have her. 

Melanctha's mother and her father had been regularly married. Me- 
lanctha's father was a big black virile negro. He only came once in 
a while to where Melanctha and her mother lived, but always that 
pleasant, sweet-appearing, pale yellow woman, mysterious and uncer- 
tain and wandering in her ways, was close in sympathy and thinking 
to her big black virile husband. 

James Herbert was a common, decent enough, colored workman, 
brutal and rough to his one daughter, but then she was a most dis- 
turbing child to manage. 

The young Melanctha did not love her father and her mother, and 
she had a breakneck courage, and a tongue that could be very nasty. 
Then, too, Melanctha went to school and was very quick in all the 
learning, and she knew very well how to use this knowledge to annoy 
her parents who knew nothing. 

Menanctha Herbert had always had a breakneck courage. Melanc- 
tha always loved to be with horses; she loved to do wild things, to 
ride the horses and to break and tame them. 

Melanctha, when she was a little girl, had had a good chance to live 
with horses. Near where Melanctha and her mother lived was the 
stable of the Bishops, a rich family who always had fine horses. 

John, the Bishops' coachman, liked Melanctha very well and he 
always let her do anything she wanted with the horses. John was 
a decent, vigorous mulatto with a prosperous house and wife and 
children. Melanctha Herbert was older than any of his children. She 
was now a well grown girl of twelve and just beginning as a woman. 

James Herbert, Melanctha's father, knew this John, the Bishops' 
coachman very well. 

One day James Herbert came to where his wife and daughter lived, 
and he was furious. 

"Where's that Melanctha girl of yours," he said fiercely, "if she is 


to the Bishops' stables again, with that man John, I swear I kill her. 
Why don't you see to that girl better you, you're her mother." 

James Herbert was a powerful, loose built, hard handed, black, 
angry negro. Herbert never was a joyous negro. Even when he drank 
with other men, and he did that very often, he was never really joyous. 
In the days when he had been most young and free and open, he had 
never had the wide abandoned laughter that gives the broad glow to 
negro sunshine. 

His daughter, Melanctha Herbert, later always made a hard forced 
laughter. She was only strong and sweet and in her nature when she 
was really deep in trouble, when she was fighting so with all she 
really had, that she did not use her laughter. This was always true of 
poor Melanctha who was so certain that she hated trouble. Melanctha 
Herbert was always seeking peace and quiet, and she could always 
only find new ways to get excited. 

James Herbert was often a very angry negro. He was fierce and 
serious, and he was very certain that he often had good reason to be 
angry with Melanctha, who knew so well how to be nasty, and to use 
her learning with a father who knew nothing. 

James Herbert often drank with John, the Bishops' coachman. John 
in his good nature sometimes tried to soften Herbert's feeling toward 
Melanctha. Not that Melanctha ever complained to John of her home 
life or her father. It was never Melanctha's way, even in the midst of 
her worst trouble to complain to any one of what happened to her, 
but nevertheless somehow every one who knew Melanctha always 
knew how much she suffered. It was only while one really loved 
Melanctha that one understood how to forgive her, that she never 
once complained nor looked unhappy, and was always handsome and 
in spirits, and yet one always knew how much she suffered. 

The father, James Herbert, never told his troubles either, and he 
was so fierce and serious that no one ever thought of asking. 

'Mis' Herbert as her neighbors called her was never heard even to 
speak of her husband or her daughter. She was always pleasant, sweet- 
appearing, mysterious and uncertain, and a little wandering in her 

The Herberts were a silent family with their troubles, but somehow 
every one who knew them always knew everything that happened. 

The morning of one day when in the evening Herbert and the 


coachman John were to meet to drink together, Melanctha had to 
come to the stable joyous and in the very best of humors. Her good 
friend John on this morning felt very firmly how good and sweet she 
was and how very much she suffered. 

John was a very decent colored coachman. When he thought about 
Melanctha it was as if she were the eldest of his children. Really he 
felt very strongly the power in her of a woman. John's wife always 
liked Melanctha and she always did all she could to make things 
pleasant. And Melanctha all her life loved and respected kind and 
good and considerate people. Melanctha always loved and wanted 
peace and gentleness and goodness and all her life for herself poor 
Melanctha could only find new ways to be in trouble. 

This evening after John and Herbert had drunk awhile together, 
the good John began to tell the father what a fine girl he had for a 
daughter. Perhaps the good John had been drinking a good deal of 
liquor, perhaps there was a gleam of something softer than the feel- 
ing of a friendly elder in the way John then spoke of Melanctha. 
There had been a good deal of drinking and John certainly that very 
morning had felt strongly Melanctha's power as a woman. James Her- 
bert was always a fierce, suspicious, serious negro, and drinking never 
made him feel more open. He looked very black and evil as he sat 
and listened while John grew more and more admiring as he talked 
half to himself, half to the father, of the virtues and sweetness of 

Suddenly between them there came a moment filled full with strong 
black curses, and then sharp razors flashed in the black hands, that held 
them flung backward in the negro fashion, and then for some minutes 
there was fierce slashing. 

John was a decent, pleasant, good natured, light brown negro, but he 
knew how to use a razor to do bloody slashing. 

When the two men were pulled apart by the other negroes who were 
in the room drinking, John had not been much wounded but James 
Herbert had gotten one good strong cut that went from his right shoul- 
der down across the front of his whole body. Razor fighting does not 
wound very deeply, but it makes a cut that looks most nasty, for it is 
so very bloody. 

Herbert was held by the other negroes until he was cleaned and 
plastered, and then he was put to bed to sleep off his drink and fighting. 


The next day he came to 'where his wife and daughter lived and he 
was furious. 

"Where's that Melanctha, of yours?" he said to his wife, when he 
saw her. "If she is to the Bishops' stables now with that yellow John, I 
swear I kill her. A nice way she is going for a decent daughter. Why 
don't you see to that girl better you, ain't you her mother!" 

Melanctha Herbert had always been old in all her ways and she knew 
very early how to use her power as a woman, and yet Melanctha with 
all her inborn intense wisdom was really very ignorant of evil. Melanctha 
had not yet come to understand what they meant, the things she so 
often heard around her, and which were just beginning to stir strongly 
in her. 

Now when her father began fiercely to assail her, she did not really 
know what it was that he was so furious to force from her. In every 
way that he could think of in his anger, he tried to make her say a thing 
she did not really know. She held out and never answered anything he 
asked her, for Melanctha had a breakneck courage and she just then 
badly hated her black father. 

When the excitement was all over, Melanctha began to know her 
power, the power she had so often felt stirring within her and which 
she now knew she could use to make her stronger. 

James Herbert did not win his fight with his daughter. After awhile 
he forgot it as he soon forgot John and the cut of his sharp razor. 

Melanctha almost forgot to hate her father, in her strong interest in the 
power she now knew she had within her. 

Melanctha did not care much now, any longer, to see John or his wife 
or even the fine horses. This life was too quiet and accustomed and no 
longer stirred her to any interest or excitement. 

Melanctha now really was beginning as a woman. She was ready, 
and she began to search in the streets and in dark corners to discover 
men and to learn their natures and their various ways of working. 

In these next years Melanctha learned many ways that lead to wisdom. 
She learned the ways, and dimly in the distance she saw wisdom. These 
years of learning led very straight to trouble for Melanctha, though in 
these years Melanctha never did or meant anything that was really 

Girls who are brought up with care and watching can always find 
moments to escape into the world, where they may learn the ways that 


lead to wisdom. For a girl raised like Melanctha Herbert, such escape 
was always very simple. Often she was alone, sometimes she was with 
a fellow seeker, and she strayed and stood, sometimes by railroad yards, 
sometimes on the docks or around new buildings where many men were 
working. Then when the darkness covered everything all over, she 
would begin to learn to know this man or that. She would advance, 
they would respond, and then she would withdraw a little, dimly, and 
always she did not know what it was that really held her. Sometimes she 
would almost go over, and then the strength in her of not really know- 
ing, would stop the average man in his endeavor. It was a strange ex- 
perience of ignorance and power and desire. Melanctha did not know 
what it was that she so badly wanted. She was afraid, and yet she did 
not understand that here she really was a coward. 

Boys had never meant much to Melanctha. They had always been 
too young to content her. Melanctha had a strong respect for any kind 
of successful power. It was this that always kept Melanctha nearer, in 
her feeling toward her virile and unendurable black father, than she 
ever was in her feeling for her pale yellow, sweet-appearing mother. 
The things she had in her of her mother, never made her feel respect. 

In these young days, it was only men that for Melanctha held any- 
thing there was of knowledge and power. It was not from men however 
that Melanctha learned to really understand this power. 

From the time that Melanctha was twelve until she was sixteen she 
wandered, always seeking but never more than very dimly seeing wis- 
dom. All this time Melanctha went on with her school learning; she 
went to school rather longer than do most of the colored children. 

Melanctha's wanderings after wisdom she always had to do in secret 
and by snatches, for her mother was then still living and 'Mis' Herbert 
always did some watching, and Melanctha with all her hard courage 
dreaded that there should be much telling to her father, who came now 
quite often to where Melanctha lived with her mother. 

In these days Melanctha talked and stood and walked with many 
kinds of men, but she did not learn to know any of them very deeply. 
They all supposed her to have world knowledge and experience. They, 
believing that she knew all, told her nothing, and thinking that she was 
deciding with them, asked for nothing, and so though Melanctha wan- 
dered widely, she was really very safe with all the wandering. 

It was a very wonderful experience this safety of Melanctha in these 


days of her attempted learning. Melanctha herself did not feel the won- 
der, she only knew that for her it all had no real value. 

Melanctha all her life was very keen in her sense for real experience. 
.She knew she was not getting what she so badly wanted, but with all 
her breakneck courage Melanctha here was a coward, and so she could 
not learn to really understand. 

Melanctha liked to wander, and to stand by the railroad yard, and 
watch the men and the engines and the switches and everything that 
was busy there, working. Railroad yards are a ceaseless fascination. They 
satisfy every kind of nature. For the lazy man whose blood flows very 
slowly, it is a steady soothing world of motion which supplies him with 
the sense of a strong moving power. He need not work and yet he has 
it very deeply; he has it even better than the man who works in it or 
owns it. Then for natures that like to feel emotion without the trouble 
of having any suffering, it is very nice to get the swelling in the throat, 
and the fullness, and the heart beats, and all the flutter of excitement 
that comes as one watches the people come and go, and hears the engine 
pound and give a long drawn whistle. For a child watching through a 
hole in the fence above the yord, it is a wonderful world of mystery 
and movement. The child loves all the noise, and then it loves the silence 
of the wind that comes before the full rush of the pounding train, that 
bursts out from the tunnel where it lost itself and all its noise in dark- 
ness, and the child loves all the smoke, that sometimes comes in rings, 
and always puffs with fire and blue color. 

For Melanctha the yard was full of the excitement of many men, 
and perhaps a free and whirling future. 

Melanctha came here very often and watched the men and all the 
things that were so busy working. The men always had time for, "Hullo 
Sis, do you want to sit on my engine," and, "Hullo, that's a pretty lookin' 
yaller girl, do you want to come and see him cookin." 

All the colored porters liked Melanctha. They often told her exciting 
things that had happened; how in the West they went through big tun- 
nels where there was no air to breathe, and then out and winding around 
edges of great canyons on thin high spindling trestles, and sometimes 
cars, and sometimes whole trains fell from the narrow bridges, and al- 
ways up from the dark places death and all kinds of queer devils looked 
up and laughed in their faces. And then they would tell how sometimes 
when the train went pounding down steep slippery mountains, great 


rocks would racket and roll down around them, and sometimes would 
smash in the car and kill men; and as the porters told these stories their 
round, black, shining faces would grow solemn, and their color would 
go grey beneath the greasy black, and their eyes would roll white in the 
fear and wonder of the things they could scare themselves by telling. 

There was one, big, serious, melancholy, light brown porter who often 
told Melanctha stories, for he liked the way she had of listening with 
intelligence and sympathetic feeling, when he told how the white men 
in the far South tried to kill him because he made one of them who was 
drunk and called him a damned nigger, and who refused to pay money 
for his chair to a nigger, get off the train between stations. And then 
this porter had to give up going to that part of the Southern country, 
for all the white men swore that if he ever came there again they would 
surely kill him. 

Melanctha liked this serious, melancholy light brown negro very well, 
and all her life Melanctha wanted and respected gentleness and good- 
ness, and this man always gave her good advice and serious kindness, 
and Melanctha felt such things very deeply, but she could never let them 
help her or affect her to change the ways that always made her keep 
herself in trouble. 

Melanctha spent many of the last hours of the daylight with the por- 
ters and with other men who worked hard, but when darkness came 
it was always different. Then Melanctha would find herself with the, 
for her, gentlemanly classes. A clerk, or a young express agent would 
begin to know her, and they would stand, or perhaps, walk a little while 

Melanctha always made herself escape but often it was with an effort. 
She did not know what it was that she so badly wanted, but with all her 
courage Melanctha here was a coward, and so she could not learn to 

Melanctha and some man would stand in the evening and would talk 
together. Sometimes Melanctha would be with another girl and then 
it was much easier to stay or to escape, for then they could make way 
for themselves together, and by throwing words and laughter to each 
other, could keep a man from getting too strong in his attention. 

But when Melanctha was alone, and she was so, very often, she would 
sometimes come very near to making a long step on the road that leads 
to wisdom. Some man would learn a good deal about her in the talk, 


never altogether truly, for Melanctha all her life did not know how to 
tell a story wholly. She always, and yet not with intention, managed 
to leave out big pieces which make a story very different, for when it 
came to what had happened and what she had said and what it was 
that she had really done, Melanctha never could remember right. The 
man would sometimes come a little nearer, would detain her, would 
hold her arm or make his jokes a little clearer, and then Melanctha 
would always make herself escape. The man thinking that she really 
had world wisdom would not make his meaning clear, and believing 
that she was deciding with him he never went so fast that he could stop 
her when at last she made herself escape. 

And so Melanctha wandered on the edge of wisdom. "Say, Sis, why 
don't you when you come here stay a little longer?" they would all ask 
her, and they would hold her for an answer, and she would laugh, and 
sometimes she did stay longer, but always just in time she made herself 

Melanctha Herbert wanted very much to know and yet she feared 
the knowledge. As she grew older she often stayed a good deal longer, 
and sometimes it was almost a balanced struggle, but she always made 
herself escape. 

Next to the railroad yard it was the shipping docks that Melanctha 
loved best when she wandered. Often she was alone, sometimes she was 
with some better kind of black girl, and she would stand a long time and 
watch the men working at unloading, and see the steamers do their 
coaling, and she would listen with full feeling to the yowling of the 
free swinging negroes, as they ran, with their powerful loose jointed 
bodies and their childish savage yelling, pushing, carrying, pulling great 
loads from the ships to the warehouses. 

The men would call out, "Say, Sis, look out or we'll come and catch 
yer," or "Hi, there, you yaller girl, come here and we'll take you sailin'." 
And then, too, Melanctha would learn to know some of the serious 
foreign sailors who told her all sorts of wonders, and a cook would some- 
times take her and her friends over a ship and show where he made 
his messes and where the men slept, and where the shops were, and 
how everything was made by 'themselves, right there, on ship board. 

Melanctha loved to see these dark and smelly places. She always loved 
to watch and talk and listen with men who worked hard. But it was 


never from these rougher people that Melanctha tried to learn the ways 
that lead to wisdom. In the daylight she always liked to talk with rough 
men and to listen to their lives and about their work and their various 
ways of doing, but when the darkness covered everything all over, Me- 
lanctha would meet, and stand, and talk with a clerk or a young ship- 
ping agent who had seen her watching, and so it was that she would 
try to learn to understand. 

And then Melanctha was fond of watching men work on new build- 
ings. She loved to see them hoisting, digging, sawing and stone cutting. 
Here, too, in the daylight, she always learned to know the common 
workmen. "Heh, Sis, look out or that rock will fall on you and smash 
you all up into little pieces. Do you think you would make a nice jelly?" 
And then they would all laugh and feel that their jokes were very funny. 
And "Say, you pretty yaller girl, would it scare you bad to stand up here 
on top where I be ? See if you've got grit and come up here where I can 
hold you. All you got to do is to sit still on that there rock that they're 
just hoistin', and then when you get here I'll hold you tight, don't you 
be scared Sis." 

Sometimes Melanctha would do some of these things that had much 
danger, and always with such men, she showed her power and her 
breakneck courage. Once she slipped and fell from a high place. A work- 
man caught her and so she was not killed, but her left arm was badly 

All the men crowded around her. They admired her boldness in doing 
and in bearing pain when her arm was broken. They all went along 
with her with great respect to the doctor, and then they took her home 
in triumph and all of them were bragging about her not squealing. 

James Herbert was home where his wife lived, that day. He was 
furious when he saw the workmen and Melanctha. He drove the men 
away with curses so that they were all very nearly fighting, and he would 
not let a doctor come in to attend Melanctha. "Why don't you see to 
that girl better, you, you're her mother." 

James Herbert did not fight things out now any more with his daugh- 
ter. He feared her tongue, and her school learning, and the way she had 
of saying things that were very nasty to a brutal black man who knew 
nothing. And Melanctha just then hated him very badly in her suffering. 

And so this was the way Melanctha lived the four years of her begin- 


ning as a woman. And many things happened to Melanctha, but she 
knew very well that none of them had led her on to the right way, that 
certain way that was to lead her to world wisdom. 

Melanctha Herbert was sixteen when she first met Jane Harden. Jane 
was a negress, but she was so white that hardly any one could guess it. 
Jane had had a good deal of education. She had been two years at a 
colored college. She had had to leave because of her bad conduct. She 
taught Melanctha many things. She taught her how to go the ways that 
lead to wisdom. 

Jane Harden was at this time twenty-three years old and she had had 
much experience. She was very much attracted by Melanctha, and Me- 
lanctha was very proud that this Jane would let her know her. 

Jane Harden was not afraid to understand. Melanctha who had strong 
the sense for real experience, knew that here was a woman who had 
learned to understand. 

Jane Harden had many bad habits. She drank a great deal, and she 
wandered widely. She was safe though now, when she wanted to be safe, 
in this wandering. 

Melanctha Herbert soon always wandered with her. Melanctha tried 
the drinking and some of the other habits, but she did not find that she 
cared very much to do them. But every day she grew stronger in her 
desire to really understand. 

It was now no longer, even in the daylight, the rougher men that these 
two learned to know in their wanderings, and for Melanctha the better 
classes were now a little higher. It was no longer express agents and 
clerks that she learned to know, but men in business, commercial travel- 
ers, and even men above these, and Jane and she would talk and walk 
and laugh and escape from them all very often. It was still the same, 
the knowing of them and the always just escaping, only now for Me- 
lanctha somehow it was different, for though it was always the same 
thing that happened it had a different flavor, for now Melanctha was 
with a woman who had wisdom, and dimly she began to see what it 
was that she should understand. 

It was not from the men that Melanctha learned her wisdom. It was 
always Jane Harden herself who was making Melanctha begin to un- 

Jane was a roughened woman. She had power and she liked to use 
it, she had much white blood and that made her see clear, she liked 


drinking and that made her reckless. Her white blood was strong in 
her and she had grit and endurance and a vital courage. She was always 
game, however much she was in trouble. She liked Melanctha Herbert 
for the things that she had like her, and then Melanctha was young, and 
she had sweetness, and a way of listening with intelligence and sym- 
pathetic interest, to the stories that Jane Harden often told out of her 

Jane grew always fonder of Melanctha. Soon they began to wander, 
more to be together than to see men and learn their various ways of 
working. Then they began not to wander, and Melanctha would spend 
long hours with Jane in her room, sitting at her feet and listening to her 
stories, and feeling her strength and the power of her affection, and 
slowly she began to see clear before her one certain way that would be 
sure to lead to wisdom. 

Before the end came, the end of the two years in which Melanctha 
spent all her time when she was not at school or in her home, with Jane 
Harden, before these two years were finished, Melanctha had come to 
see very clear, and she had come to be very certain, what it is that gives 
the world its wisdom. 

Jane Harden always had a little money and she had a room in the 
lower part of the town. Jane had once taught in a colored school. She 
had had to leave that too on account of her bad conduct. It was her drink- 
ing that always made all the trouble for her, for that can never be really 
covered over. 

Jane's drinking was always growing worse upon her. Melanctha had 
tried to do the drinking but it had no real attraction for her. , 

In the , first year, between Jane Harden and Melanctha Herbert, Jane 
had been much the stronger. Jane loved Melanctha and she found her 
always intelligent and brave and sweet and docile, and Jane meant to, 
and before the year was over she had taught Melanctha what it is that 
gives many people in the world their wisdom. 

Jane had many ways in which to do this teaching. She told Melanctha 
many things. She loved Melanctha hard and made Melanctha feel it 
very deeply. She would be with other people and with men and with 
Melanctha, and she would make Melanctha understand what everybody 
wanted, and what one did with power when one had it. 

Melanctha sat at Jane's feet for many hours in these days and felt 
Jane's wisdom. She learned to love Jane and to have this feeling very 


deeply. She learned a little in these days to know joy, and she was taught 
too how very keenly she could suffer. It was very different this suffering 
from that Melanctha sometimes had from her mother and from her very 
unendurable black father. Then she was fighting and she could be strong 
and valiant in her suffering, but here with Jane Harden she was long- 
ing and she bent and pleaded with her suffering. 

It was a very tumultuous, very mingled year, this time for Melanc- 
tha, but she certainly did begin to really understand. 

In every way she got it from Jane Harden. There was nothing good 
or bad in doing, feeling, thinking or in talking, that Jane spared her. 
Sometimes the lesson came almost too strong for Melanctha, but some- 
how she always managed to endure it and so slowly, but always with 
increasing strength and feeling, Melanctha began to really understand. 

Then slowly, between them, it began to be all different. Slowly now 
between them, it was Melanctha Herbert, who was stronger. Slowly now 
they began to drift apart from one another. 

Melanctha Herbert never really lost her sense that it was Jane Harden 
who had taught her, but Jane did many things that Melanctha now 
no longer needed. And then, too, Melanctha never could remember right 
when it came to what she had done and what had happened. Melanctha 
now sometimes quarreled with Jane, and they no longer went about to- 
gether, and sometimes Melanctha really forgot how much she owed 
to Jane Harden's teaching. 

Melanctha began now to feel that she had always had world wisdom. 
She really knew of course, that it was Jane who had taught her, but all 
that began, to be covered over by the trouble between them, that was 
now always getting stronger. 

Jane Harden was a roughened woman. Once she had been very strong, 
but now she was weakened in all her kinds of strength by her drinking. 
Melanctha had tried the drinking but it had had no real attraction for 

Jane's strong and roughened nature and her drinking made it always 
harder for her to forgive Melanctha, that now Melanctha did not really 
need her any longer. Now it was Melanctha who was stronger and it 
was Jane who was dependent on her. 

Melanctha was now come to be about eighteen years old. She was a 
graceful, pale yellow, good looking, intelligent, attractive negress, a little 


mysterious sometimes in her ways, and always good and pleasant, and 
always ready to do things for people. 

Melanctha from now on saw very little of Jane Harden. Jane did not 
like that very well and sometimes she abused Melanctha, but her drink- 
ing soon covered everything all over. 

It was not in Melanctha's nature to really lose her sense for Jane 
Harden. Melanctha all her life was ready to help Jane out in any of her 
trouble, and later, when Jane really went to pieces, Melanctha always 
did all that she could to help her. 

But Melanctha Herbert was ready now herself to do teaching. Melanc- 
tha could do anything now that she wanted. Melanctha knew now what 
everybody wanted. 

Melanctha had learned how she might stay a little longer; she had 
learned that she must decide when she wanted really to stay longer, and 
she had learned how when she wanted to, she could escape. 

And so Melanctha began once more to wander. It was all now for her 
very different. It was never rougher men now that she talked to, and 
she did not care much now to know white men of the, for her, very 
better classes. It was now something realler that Melanctha wanted, 
something that would move her very deeply, something that would fill 
her fully with the wisdom that was planted now within her, and that 
she wanted badly, should really wholly fill her. 

Melanctha these days wandered very widely. She was always alone now 
when she wandered. Melanctha did not need help now to know, or 
to stay longer, or when she wanted, to escape. 

Melanctha tried a great many men, in these days before she was really 
suited. It was almost a year that she wandered and then she met with 
a young mulatto. He was a doctor who had just begun to practice. He 
would most likely do well in the future, but it was not this that con- 
cerned Melanctha. She found him good and strong and gentle and very 
intellectual, and all her life Melanctha liked and wanted good and con- 
siderate people, and then too he did not at first believe in Melanctha. 
He held off and did not know what it was that Melanctha wanted. Me- 
lanctha came to want him very badly. They began to know each other 
better. Things began to be very strong between them. Melanctha wanted 
him so badly that now she never wandered. She just gave herself to this 


Melanctha Herbert was now, all alone, in Bridgepoint. She lived now 
with this colored woman and now with that one, and she sewed, and 
sometimes she taught a little in a colored school as substitute for some 
teacher. Melanctha had now no home nor any regular employment. 
Life was just commencing for Melanctha. She had youth and had 
learned wisdom, and she was graceful and pale yellow and very pleasant, 
and always ready to do things for people, and she was mysterious in her 
ways and that only made belief in her more fervent. 

During the year before she met Jefferson Campbell, Melanctha had 
tried many kinds of men but they had none of them interested Melanc- 
tha very deeply. She met them, she was much with them, she left them, 
she would think perhaps this next time it wouhj be more exciting, and 
always she found that for her it all had no real meaning. She could now 
do everything she wanted, she knew now everything that everybody 
wanted, and yet it all had no excitement for her. With these men, she 
knew she could learn nothing. She wanted some one that could teach 
her very deeply and now at last she was sure that she had found him, 
yes she really had it, before she had thought to look if in this man she 
would find it. 

During this year 'Mis' Herbert as her neighbors called her, Melanc- 
tha's pale yellow mother was very sick, and in this year she died. 

Melanctha's father during these last years did not come very often to 
the house where his wife lived and Melanctha. Melanctha was not sure 
that her father was now any longer here in Bridgepoint. It was Melanctha 
who was very good now to her mother. It was always Melanctha's way 
to be good to any one in trouble. 

Melanctha took good care of her mother. She did everything that any 
woman could, she tended and soothed and helped her pale yellow 
mother, and she worked hard in every way to take care of her, and make 
her dying easy. But Melanctha did not in these days like her mother any 
better, and her mother never cared much for this daughter who was al- 
ways a hard child to manage, and who had a tongue that always could 
be very nasty. 

Melanctha did everything that any woman could, and at last her 
mother died, and Melanctha had her buried. Melanctha's father was not 
heard from, and Melanctha in all her life after, never saw or heard or 
knew of anything that her father did. 

It was the young doctor, Jetferson Campbell, who helped Melanctha 


toward the end, to take care of her sick mother. Jefferson Campbell had 
often before seen Melanctha Herbert, but he had never liked her very 
well, and he had never believed that she was any good., He had heard 
something about how she wandered. He knew a little too of Jane 
Harden, and he was sure that this Melanctha Herbert, who was her 
friend and who wandered, would never come to any good. 

Dr. Jefferson Campbell was a serious, earnest, good young joyous doc- 
tor. He liked to take care of everybody and he loved his own colored 
people. He always found life very easy did Jeff Campbell, and every- 
body liked to have him with them. He was so good and sympathetic, and 
he was so earnest and so joyous. He sang when he was happy, and he 
laughed, and his was the free abandoned laughter that gives the warm 
broad glow to negro sunshine. 

Jeff Campbell had never yet in his life had real trouble. Jefferson's 
father was a good, kind, serious, religious man. He was a very steady, 
very intelligent, and very dignified, light brown, grey haired negro. He 
was a butler and he had worked for the Campbell family many years, 
and his father and his mother before him had been in the service of this 
family as free people. 

Jefferson Campbell's father and his mother had of course been regu- 
larly married. Jefferson's mother was a sweet, little, pale brown, gentle 
woman who reverenced and obeyed her good husband, and who wor- 
shipped and admired and loved hard her good, earnest, cheery, hard 
working doctor boy who was her only child. 

Jeff Campbell had been raised religious by his people but religion had 
never interested Jeff very much. Jefferson was very good. He loved his 
people and he never hurt them, and he always did everything they 
wanted and that he could to please them, but he really loved best science 
and experimenting and to learn things, and he early wanted to be a 
doctor, and he was always very interested in the life of the colored people. 

The Campbell family had been very good to him and had helped him 
on with his ambition. Jefferson studied hard, he went to a colored col- 
lege, and then he learnt to be a doctor. 

It was now two or three years, that he had started in to practice. 
Everybody liked Jeff Campbell, he was so strong and kindly and cheer- 
ful and understanding, and he laughed so with pure joy, and he always 
liked to help all his own colored people. 

Dr. Jeff knew all about Jane Harden. He had taken care of her in 


some of her bad trouble. He knew about Melanctha too, though until 
her mother was taken sick he had never met her. Then he was called 
in to help Melanctha to take care of her sick mother. Dr. Campbell did 
not like Melanctha's ways and he did not think that she would ever come 
to any good. 

Dr. Campbell had taken care of Jane Harden in some of her bad 
trouble. Jane sometimes had abused Melanctha to him. What right had 
that Melanctha Herbert who owed everything to her, Jane Harden, what 
right had a girl like that to go away to other men and leave her, but Me- 
lanctha Herbert never had any sense of how to act to anybody. Melanc- 
tha had a good mind, Jane never denied her that, but she never used it to 
do anything decent with it. But what could you expect when Melanctha 
had such a brute of a black nigger father, and Melanctha was always 
abusing her father and yet she was just like him, and really she admired 
him so much and he never had any sense of what he owed to anybody, 
and Melanctha was just like him and she was proud of it too, and it 
made Jane so tired to hear Melanctha talk all the time as if she wasn't. 
Jane Harden hated people who had good minds and didn't use them, 
and Melanctha always had that weakness, and wanting to keep in with 
people, and never really saying that she wanted to be like her father, and 
it was so silly of Melanctha to abuse her father, when she was so much 
like him and she really liked it. No, Jane Harden had no use for Melanc- 
tha. Oh yes, Melanctha always came around to be good to her. Me- 
lanctha was always sure to do that. She never really went away and 
left one. She didn't use her mind enough to do things straight out like 
that. Melanctha Herbert had a good mind, Jane never denied that to 
her, but she never wanted to see or hear about Melanctha Herbert any 
more, and she wished Melanctha wouldn't come in any more to see her. 
She didn't hate her, but she didn't want to hear about her father and 
all that talk Melanctha always made, and that just meant nothing to her. 
Jane Harden was very tired of all that now. She didn't have any use 
now any more for Melanctha, and if Dr. Campbell saw her he better tell 
her Jane didn't want to see her, and she could take her talk to somebody 
else, who was ready to believe her. And then Jane Harden would drop 
away and forget Melanctha and all her life before, and then she would 
begin to drink and so she would cover everything all over. 

Jeff Campbell heard all this very often, but it did not interest him 
very deeply. He felt no desire to know more of this Melanctha. He 


heard her, once, talking to another girl outside of the house, when he 
was paying a visit to Jane Harden. He did not see much in the talk that 
he heard her do. He did not see much in the things Jane Harden said 
when she abused Melanctha to him. He was more interested in Jane 
herself than in anything he heard about Melanctha. He knew Jane 
Harden had a good mind, and she had had power, and she could really 
have done things, and now this drinking covered everything all over. 
Jeff Campbell was always very sorry when he had to see it. Jane Harden 
was a roughened woman, and yet Jeff found a great many strong good 
things in her, that still made him like her. 

Jeff Campbell did everything he could for Jane Harden. He did not 
care much to hear about Melanctha. He had no feeling, much, about her. 
He did not find that he took any interest in her. Jane Harden was so 
much a stronger woman, and Jane really had had a good mind, and she 
had used it to do things with it, before this drinking business had taken 
such a hold upon her. 

Dr. Campbell was helping Melanctha Herbert to take care of her 
sick mother. He saw Melanctha now for long times and very often, and 
they sometimes talked a good deal together, but Melanctha never said 
anything to him about Jane Harden. She never talked to him about 
anything that was not just general matters, or about medicine, or to 
tell him funny stories. She asked him many questions and always listened 
very well to all he told her, and she always remembered everything she 
heard him say about doctoring, and she always remembered everything 
that she had learned from all the others. 

Jeff Campbell never found that all this talk interested him very deeply. 
He did not find that he liked Melanctha when he saw her so much, any 
better. He never found that he thought much about Melanctha. He never 
found that he believed much in her having a good mind, like Jane 
Harden. He found he liked Jane Harden always better, and that he 
wished very much that she had never begun that bad drinking. 

Melanctha Herbert's mother was now always getting sicker. Melanc- 
tha really did everything that any woman could. Melanctha's mother 
never liked her daughter any better. She never said much, did 'Mis' Her- 
bert, but anybody could see that she did not think much of this daughter. 

Dr. Campbell now often had to stay a long time to take care of 'Mis' 
Herbert. One day 'Mis' Herbert was much sicker and Dr. Campbell 
thought that this night, she would surely die. He came back late to the 


house, as he had said he would do, to sit up and watch 'Mis' Herbert, and 
to help Melanctha, if she should need anybody to be with her. Melanc- 
tha Herbert and Jeff Campbell sat up all that night together. 'Mis' Her- 
bert did not die. The next day she was a little better. 

This house where Melanctha had always lived with her mother was 
a little red brick, two story house. They had not much furniture to fill 
it and some of the windows were broken and not mended. Melanctha 
did not have much money to use now on the house, but with a colored 
woman, who was their neighbor and good natured and who had always 
helped them, Melanctha managed to take care of her mother and to keep 
the house fairly clean and neat. 

Melanctha's mother was in bed in a room upstairs, and the steps from 
below led right up into it. There were just two rooms on this upstairs 
floor. Melanctha and Dr. Campbell sat down on the steps, that night they 
watched together, so that they could hear and see Melanesia's mother 
and yet the light would be shaded, and they could sit and read, if they 
wanted to, and talk low some, and yet not disturb 'Mis' Herbert. 

Dr. Campbell was always very fond of reading. Dr. Campbell had not 
brought a book with him that night. He had just forgotten it. He had 
meant to put something in his pocket to read, so that he could amuse 
himself, while he was sitting there and watching. When he was through 
with taking care of 'Mis' Herbert, he came and sat down on the steps 
just above where Melanctha was sitting. He spoke about how he had 
forgotten to bring his book with him. Melanctha said there were some 
old papers in the house, perhaps Dr. Campbell could find something in 
them that would help pass the time for a while for him. All right, Dr. 
Campbell said, that would be better than just sitting there with nothing. 
Dr. Campbell began to read through the old papers that Melanctha gave 
him. When anything amused him in them, he read it out to Melanctha. 
Melanctha was now pretty silent, with him. Dr. Campbell began to feel 
a little, about how she responded to him. Dr. Campbell began to see a 
little that perhaps Melanctha had a good mind. Dr. Campbell was not 
sure yet that she had a good mind, but he began to think a little that 
perhaps she might have one. 

Jefferson Campbell always liked to talk to everybody about the things 
he worked at and about his thinking about what he could do for the 
colored people. Melanctha Herbert never thought about these things 
the way that he did. Melanctha had never said much to Dr. Campbell 


about what she thought about them. Melanctha did not feel the same 
as he did about being good and regular in life, and not having excite- 
ments all the time, which was the way that Jefferson Campbell wanted 
that everybody should be, so that everybody would be wise and yet be 
happy. Melanctha always had strong the sense for real experience. Me- 
lanctha Herbert did not think much of this way of coming to real 

Dr. Campbell soon got through with his reading, in the old news- 
papers, and then somehow he began to talk along about the things he was 
always thinking. Dr. Campbell said he wanted to work so that he could 
understand what troubled people, and not to just have excitements, 
and he believed you ought to love your father and your mother and to 
be regular in all your life, and not to be always wanting new things and 
excitements, and to always know where you were, and what you wanted, 
and to always tell everything just as you meant it. That's the only kind 
of life he knew or believed in, Jeff Campbell repeated. "No I ain't got 
any use for all the time being in excitements and wanting to have all 
kinds of experience all the time. I got plenty of experience just living 
regular and quiet and with my family, and doing my work, and taking 
care of people, and trying to understand it. I don't believe much in this 
running around business and I don't want to see the colored people do 
it. I am a colored man and I ain't sorry, and I want to see the colored 
people like what is good and what I want them to have, and that's to 
live regular and work hard and understand things, and that's enough 
to keep any decent man excited." Jeff Campbell spoke now with some 
anger. Not to Melanctha, he did not think of her at all when he was 
talking. It was the life he wanted that he spoke to, and the way he wanted 
things to be with the colored people. 

But Melanctha Herbert had listened to him say all this. She knew he 
meant it, but it did not mean much to her, and she was sure some day 
he would find out, that it was not all, of real wisdom. Melanctha knew 
very well what it was to have real wisdom. "But how about Jane 
Harden?" said Melanctha to Jeff Campbell, "seems to me Dr. Camp- 
bell you find her to have something in her, and you go there very often, 
and you talk to her much more than you do to the nice girls that stay at 
home with their people, the kind you say you are really wanting. It don't 
seem to me Dr. Campbell, that what you say and what you do seem to 
have much to do with each other. And about your being so good Dr. 


Campbell," Went on Melanctha, "You don't care about going to church 
much yourself, and yet you always are saying you believe so much in 
things like that, for people. It seems to me, Dr. .Campbell you want to 
have a good time just like all us others, and then you just keep on saying 
that it's right to be good and you ought not to have excitements, and yet 
you really don't want to do it Dr. Campbell, no more than me or Jane 
Harden. No, Dr. Campbell, it certainly does seem to me you don't know 
very well yourself, what you mean, when you are talking." 

Jefferson had been talking right along, the way he always did when 
he got started, and now Melanctha's answer only made him talk a little 
harder. He laughed a little, too, but very low, so as not to disturb 'Mis' 
Herbert who was sleeping very nicely, and he looked brightly at Melanc- 
tha to enjoy her, and then he settled himself down to answer. 

"Yes," he began, "it certainly does sound a little like I didn't know 
very well what I do mean, when you put it like that to me, Miss Melanc- 
tha, but that's just because you don't understand enough about what I 
meant, by what I was just saying to you. I don't say, never, I don't want 
to know all kinds of people, Miss Melanctha, and 1 don't say there ain't 
many kinds of people, and I don't say ever, that I don't find some like 
Jane Harden very good to know and talk to, but it's the strong things I 
like in Jane Harden, not all her excitements. I don't admire the bad 
things she does, Miss Melanctha, but Jane Harden is a strong woman 
and I always respect that in her. No I know you don't believe what I say, 
Miss Melanctha, but I mean it, and it's all just because you don't under- 
stand it when I say it. And as for religion, that just ain't my way of being 
good, Miss Melanctha, but it's a good way for many people to be good 
and regular in their way of living, and if they believe it, it helps them to 
be good, and if they're honest in it, I like to see them have it. No, what 
I don't like, Miss Melanctha, is this what I see so much with the colored 
people, their always wanting new things just to get excited." 

Jefferson Campbell here stopped himself in this talking. Melanctha 
Herbert did not make any answer. They both sat there very quiet. 

Jeff Campbell then began again on the old papers. He sat there on 
the steps just above where Melanctha was sitting, and he went on with 
his reading, and his head went moving up and down, and sometimes he 
was reading, and sometimes he was thinking about all the things he 
wanted to be doing, and then he would rub the back of his dark hand 
over his mouth, and in between he would be frowning with his think- 


ing, and sometimes he would be rubbing his head hard to help his think- 
ing. And Melanctha just sat still and watched the lamp burning, and 
sometimes she turned it down a little, when the wind caught it and it 
would begin to get to smoking. 

And so Jeff Campbell and Melanctha Herbert sat there on the steps, 
very quiet, a long time, and they didn't seem to think much, that they 
were together. They sat there so, for about an hour, and then it came to 
Jefferson very slowly and as a strong feeling that he was sitting there on 
the steps, alone, with Melanctha. He did not know if Melanctha Herbert 
was feeling very much about their being there alone together. Jefferson 
began to wonder about it a little. Slowly he felt that surely they must 
both have this feeling. It was so important that he knew that she must 
have it. They both sat there, very quiet, a long time. 

At last Jefferson began to talk about how the lamp was smelling. Jef- 
ferson began to explain what it is that makes a lamp get to smelling. 
Melanctha let him talk. She did not answer, and then he stopped in his 
talking. Soon Melanctha began to sit up straighter and then she started 
in to question. 

" About what you was just saying Dr. Campbell about living regular 
and all that, I certainly don't understand what you meant by what you 
was just saying. You ain't a bit like good people Dr. Campbell, like the 
good people you are always saying are just like you. I know good people 
Dr. Campbell, and you ain't a bit like men who are good and got reli- 
gion. You are just as free and easy as any man can be Dr. Campbell, 
and you always like to be with Jane Harden, and she is a pretty bad one 
and you don't look down on her and you never tell her she is a bad one. 
I know you like her just like a friend Dr. Campbell, and so I certainly 
don't understand just what it is you mean by all that you was just saying 
to me. I know you mean honest Dr. Campbell, and I am always trying 
to believe you, but I can't say as I see just what you mean when you say 
you want to be good and real pious, because I am very certain Dr. Camp- 
bell that you ain't that kind of a man at all, and you ain't never ashamed 
'to be with queer folks Dr. Campbell, and you seem to be thinking what 
you are doing is just like what you are always saying, and Dr. Campbell, 
I certainly don't just see what you mean by what you say." 

Dr. Campbell almost laughed loud enough to wake 'Mis' Herbert. 
He did enjoy the way Melanctha said these things to him. He began to 
feel very strongly about it that perhaps Melanctha really had a good 


mind. He was very free now in his laughing, but not so as to make 
Melanctha angry. He was very friendly with her in his laughing, and 
then he made his face get serious, and he rubbed his head to help him 
in his thinking. 

"I know Miss Melanctha," he began, "It ain't very easy for you to 
understand what I was meaning by what I was just saying to you, and 
perhaps some of the good people I like so wouldn't think very much, 
any more than you do, Miss Melanctha, about the ways I have to be 
good. But that's no matter Miss Melanctha. What I mean Miss Melanc- 
tha by what I was just saying to you is, that I don't, no, never, believe 
in doing things just to get excited. You see Miss Melanctha I mean the 
way so many of the colored people do it. Instead of just working hard 
and caring about their working and living regular with their families 
and saving up all their money, so they will have some to bring up their 
children better, instead of living regular and doing like that and getting 
all their new ways from just decent living, the colored people just keep 
running around and perhaps drinking and doing everything bad they 
can ever think of, and not just because they like all those bad things 
that they are always doing, but only just because they want to get excited. 
No Miss Melanctha, you see I am a colored man myself and I ain't sorry, 
and I want to see the colored people being good and careful and always 
honest and living always just as regular as can be, and I am sure Miss 
Melanctha, that that way everybody can have a good time, and be happy 
and keep right and be busy, and not always have to be doing bad things 
for new ways to get excited. Yes Miss Melanctha, I certainly do like 
everything to be good, and quiet, and I certainly do think that is the 
best way for all us colored people. No, Miss Melanctha too, I don't mean 
this except only just the way I say it. I ain't got any other meaning Miss 
Melanctha, and it's that what I mean when I am saying about being 
really good. It ain't Miss Melanctha to be pious and not liking every kind 
of people, and I don't say ever Miss Melanctha that when other kind of 
people come regular into your life you shouldn't want to know them 
always. What I mean Miss Melanctha by what I am always saying is, 
you shouldn't try to know everybody just to run around and get excited. 
It's that kind of way of doing that I hate so always Miss Melanctha, and 
that is so bad for all us colored people. I don't know as you understand 
now any better what I mean by what I was just saying to you. But you 


certainly do know now Miss Melanctha, that I always mean it what I 
say when I am talking." 

"Yes I certainly do understand you when you talk so Dr. Campbell. 
I certainly do understand now what you mean by what you was always 
saying to me. I certainly do understand Dr. Campbell that you mean you 
don't believe it's right to love anybody." "Why sure no, yes I do Miss 
Melanctha, I certainly do believe strong in loving, and in being good to 
everybody, and trying to understand what they all need, to help them." 
"Oh I know all about that way of doing Dr. Campbell, but that certainly 
ain't the kind of love I mean when I am talking. I mean real, strong, hot 
love Dr. Campbell, that makes you do anything for somebody that loves 
you." "I don't know much about that kind of love yet Miss Melanctha. 
You see it's this way with me always Miss Melanctha. I am always so 
busy with my thinking about my work I am doing and so I don't have 
time for just fooling, and then too, you see Miss Melanctha, I really cer- 
tainly don't ever like to get excited, and that kind of loving hard does 
seem always to mean just getting all the time excited. That certainly is 
what I always think from what I see of them that have it bad Miss Me- 
lanctha, and that certainly would never suit a man like me. You see 
Miss Melanctha I am a very quiet kind of fellow, and I believe in a 
quiet life for all the colored people. No Miss Melanctha I certainly never 
have mixed myself up in that kind of trouble." 

"Yes I certainly do see that very clear Dr. Campbell," said Melanctha, 
"I see that's certainly what it is always made me not know right about 
you and that's certainly what it is that makes you really mean what you 
was always saying. You certainly are just too scared Dr. Campbell to 
really feel things way down in you. All you are always wanting Dr. 
Campbell, is just to talk about being good, and to play with people just 
to have a good time, and yet always to certainly keep yourself out of 
trouble. It don't seem to me Dr. Campbell that I admire that way to do 
things very much. It certainly ain't really to me being very good. It cer- 
tainly ain't any more to me Dr. Campbell, but that you certainly are 
awful scared about really feeling things way down in you, and that's cer- 
tainly the only way Dr. Campbell I can see that you can mean, by what 
it is that you are always saying to me." 

"I don't know about that Miss Melanctha, I certainly don't think I 
can't feel things very deep in me, though I do say I certainly do like to 


have things nice and quiet, but I don't see harm in keeping out of dan- 
ger Miss Melanctha, when a man knows he certainly don't want to get 
killed in it, and I don't know anything that's more awful dangerous 
Miss Melanctha than being strong in love with somebody. I don't mind 
sickness or real trouble Miss Melanctha, and I don't want to be talking 
about what I can do in real trouble, but you know something about 
that Miss Melanctha, but I certainly don't see much in mixing up just to 
get excited, in that awful kind of danger. No Miss Melanctha I cer- 
tainly do only know just two kinds of ways of loving. One kind of 
loving seems to me, is like one has a good quiet feeling in a family when 
one does his work, and is always living good and being regular, and 
then the other way of loving is just like having it like any animal that's 
low in the streets together, and that don't seem to me very good Miss 
Melanctha, though I don't say ever that it's not all right when anybody 
likes it and that's all the kinds of love I know Miss Melanctha, and I 
certainly don't care very much to get mixed up in that kind of a way 
just to be in trouble." 

Jefferson stopped and Melanctha thought a little. 

"That certainly does explain to me Dr. Campbell what I been think- 
ing about you this long time. I certainly did wonder how you could be 
so live, and knowing everything, and everybody, and talking so big al- 
ways about everything, and everybody always liking you so much, and 
you always looking as if you was thinking, and yet you really was never 
knowing about anybody and certainly not being really very understand- 
ing. It certainly is all Dr. Campbell because you is so afraid you will be 
losing being good so easy, and it certainly do seem to me Dr. Campbell 
that it certainly don't amount to very much that kind of goodness." 

"Perhaps you are right Miss Melanctha," Jefferson answered. "1 don't 
say never, perhaps you ain't right Miss Melanctha. Perhaps I ought to 
know more about such ways Miss Melanctha. Perhaps it would help me 
some, taking care of the colored people, Miss Melanctha. I don't say, no, 
never, but perhaps I could learn a whole lot about women the right way, 
if I had a real good teacher." 

'Mis' Herbert just then stirred a little in her sleep. Melanctha went up 
the steps to the bed to attend her. Dr. Campbell got up too and went to 
help her. 'Mis' Herbert woke up and was a little better. Now it was 
morning and Dr. Campbell gave his directions to Melanctha, and then 
left her. 


Melanctha Herbert all her life long, loved and wanted good, kind and 
considerate people. Jefferson Campbell was all the things that Melanctha 
had ever wanted. Jefferson was a strong, well built, good looking, cheery, 
intelligent and good mulatto. And then at first he had not cared to know 
Melanctha, and when he did begin to know her he had not liked her 
very well, and he had not thought that she would ever come to any 
good. And then Jefferson Campbell was so very gentle. Jefferson never 
did some things like other men, things that now were beginning to be 
ugly, for Melanctha. And then too Jefferson Campbell did not seem to 
know very well what it was that Melanctha really wanted, and all this 
was making Melanctha feel his power with her always getting stronger. 

Dr. Campbell came in every day to see 'Mis' Herbert. 'Mis' Herbert, 
after that night they watched together, did get a little better, but 'Mis' 
Herbert was really very sick, and soon it was pretty sure that she would 
have to die. Melanctha certainly did everything, all the time, that any 
woman could. Jefferson never thought much better of Melanctha while 
she did it. It was not her being good, he wanted to find in her. He knew 
very well Jane Harden was right, when she said Melanctha was always 
being good to everybody but that that did not make Melanctha any 
better for her. Then too, 'Mis' Herbert never liked Melanctha any better, 
even on the last day of her living, and so Jefferson really never thought 
much of Melanctha's always being good to her mother. 

Jefferson and Melanctha now saw each other, very often. They now 
always liked to be with each other, and they always now had a good time 
when they talked to one another. They, mostly in their talking to each 
other, still just talked about outside things and what they were thinking. 
Except just in little moments, and not those very often, they never said 
anything about their feeling. Sometimes Melanctha would tease Jeffer- 
son a little just to show she had not forgotten, but mostly she listened to 
his talking, for Jefferson still always liked to talk along about the things 
he believed in. Melanctha was liking Jefferson Campbell better every 
day, and Jefferson was beginning to know that Melanctha certainly had 
a good mind, and he was beginning to feel a little, her real sweetness. 
Not in her being good to 'Mis' Herbert, that never seemed to Jefferson 
to mean much in her, but there was a strong kind of sweetness in Me- 
lanctha's nature that Jefferson began now to feel when he was with her. 

'Mis' Herbert was now always getting sicker. One night again Dr. 
Campbell felt very certain that before it was morning she would surely 


die. Dr. Campbell said he would come back to help Melanctha watch 
her, and to do anything he could to make 'Mis' Herbert's dying more 
easy for her. Dr. Campbell came back that evening, after he was through 
with his other patients, and then he made 'Mis' Herbert easy, and then 
he came and sat down on the steps just above where Melanctha was sit- 
ting with the lamp, and looking very tired. Dr. Campbell was pretty 
tired too, and they both sat there very quiet. 

"You look awful tired to-night, Dr. Campbell," Melanctha said at 
last, with her voice low and very gentle, "Don't you want to go lie down 
and sleep a little ? You're always being much too good to everybody, Dr. 
Campbell. I like to have you stay here watching to-night with me, but 
it don't seem right you ought to stay here when you got so much always 
to do for everybody. You are certainly very kind to come back, Dr. 
Campbell, but I can certainly get along to-night without you. I can get 
help next door sure if I need it. You just go 'long home to bed, Dr. 
Campbell. You certainly do look as if you need it." 

Jefferson was silent for some time, and always he was looking very 
gently at Melanctha. 

"I certainly never did think, Miss Melanctha, I would find you to be 
so sweet and thinking, with me." "Dr. Campbell," said Melanctha, still 
more gentle, "I certainly never did think that you would ever feel it good 
to like me. I certainly never did think you would want to see for your- 
self if I had sweet ways in me." 

They both sat there very tired, very gentle, very quiet, a long time. 
At last Melanctha in a low, even tone began to talk to Jefferson Camp- 

"You are certainly a very good man, Dr. Campbell, I certainly do feel 
that more every day I see you. Dr. Campbell, I sure do want to be 
friends with a good man like you, now I know you. You certainly, Dr. 
Campbell, never do things like other men, that's always ugly for me. 
Tell me true, Dr. Campbell, how you feel about being always friends 
with me. I certainly do know, Dr. Campbell, you are a good man, and 
if you say you will be friends with me, you certainly never will go back 
on me, the way so many kinds of them do to every girl they ever get to 
like them. Tell me for true, Dr. Campbell, will you be friends with me." 

"Why, Miss Melanctha," said Campbell slowly, "why you see I just 
can't say that right out that way to you. Why sure you know Miss Me- 
lanctha, I will be very glad if it comes by and by that we are always friends 


together, but you see, Miss Melanchta, I certainly am a very slow-minded 
quiet kind of fellow though I do say quick things all the time to every- 
body and when I certainly do want to mean it what I am saying to you, 
I can't say things like that right out to everybody till I know really 
more for certain all about you, and how I like you, and what I really 
mean to do better for you. You certainly do see what I mean, Miss 
Melanctha." "I certainly do admire you for talking honest to me, Jeff 
Campbell," said Melanctha. "Oh, I am always honest, Miss Melanctha. 
It's easy enough for me always to be honest, Miss Melanctha. All I got 
to do is always just to say right out what I am thinking. I certainly 
never have got any real reason for not saying it right out like that to 

They sat together, very silent. "I certainly do wonder, Miss Melanc- 
tha," at last began Jeff Campbell, "I certainly do wonder, if we know 
very right, you and me, what each other is really thinking. I certainly 
do wonder, Miss Melanctha, if we know at all really what each other 
means by what we are always saying." "That certainly do mean, by what 
you say, that you think I am a bad one, Jeff Campbell," flashed out Me- 
lanctha. "Why no, Miss Melanctha, why sure I don't mean any thing 
like that at all, by what I am saying to you. You know well as I do, Miss 
Melanctha, I think better of you every day I see you, and I like to talk 
with you all the time now, Miss Melanctha, and I certainly do think we 
both like it very well when we are together, and it seems to me always 
more, you are very good and sweet always to everybody. It only is, I am 
really so slow-minded in my ways, Miss Melanctha, for all I talk so 
quick to everybody, and I don't like to say to you what I don't know for 
very sure, and I certainly don't know for sure I know just all what you 
mean by what you are always saying to me. And you see, Miss Melanc- 
tha, that's what makes me say what I was just saying to you when 
you asked me." 

"I certainly do thank you again for being honest to me, Dr. Camp- 
bell," said Melanctha. "I guess I leave you now, Dr. Campbell. I think I 
go in the other room and rest a little. I leave you here, so perhaps if I 
ain't here you will maybe sleep and rest yourself a little. Good night now, 
Dr. Campbell, I call you if I need you later to help me, Dr. Campbell, 
I hope you rest well, Dr. Campbell." 

Jeff Campbell, when Melanctha left him, sat there and he was very 
quiet and just wondered. He did not know very well just what Melanc- 


tha meant by -what she 'was always saying to him. He did not know very 
well how much he really knew about Melanctha Herbert. He wondered 
if he should go on being so much all the time with her. He began to 
think about what he should do now with her. Jefferson Campbell was a 
man who liked everybody and many people liked very much to be with 
him. Women liked him, he was so strong, and good, and understanding, 
and innocent, and firm, and gentle. Sometimes they seemed to want very 
much he should be with them. When they got so, they always had made 
Campbell very tired. Sometimes he would play a little with them, but 
he never had had any strong feeling for them. Now with Melanctha Her- 
bert everything seemed different. Jefferson was not sure that he knew 
here just what he wanted. He was not sure he know just what it was 
that Melanctha wanted. He knew if it was only play, with Melanctha, 
that he did not want to do it. But he remembered always how she had 
told him he never knew how to feel things very deeply. He remembered 
how she told him he was afraid to let himself ever know real feeling, 
and then too, most of all to him, she had told him he was not very under- 
standing. That always troubled Jefferson very keenly, he wanted very 
badly to be really understanding. If Jefferson only knew better just what 
Melanctha meant by what she said. Jefferson always had thought he 
knew something about women. Now he found that really he knew noth- 
ing. He did not know the least bit about Melanctha. He did not know 
what it was right that he should do about it. He wondered if it was just 
a little play that they were doing. If it was a play he did not want to 
go on playing, but if it was really that he was not very understanding, 
and that with Melanctha Herbert he could learn to really understand, 
then he was very certain he did not want to be a coward. It was very 
hard for him to know what he wanted. He thought and thought, and 
always he did not seem to know any better what he wanted. At last he 
gave up this thinking. He felt sure it was only play with Melanctha. "No, 
I certainly won't go on fooling with her any more this way," he said at 
last out loud to himself, when he was through with this thinking. "I cer- 
tainly will stop fooling, and begin to go on with my thinking about my 
work and what's the matter with people like 'Mis' Herbert," and Jeffer- 
son took out his book from his pocket, and drew near to the lamp, and 
began with some hard scientific reading. 

Jefferson sat there for about an hour reading, and he had really forgot- 
ten all about his trouble with Melanctha's meaning. Then 'Mis' Herbert 


had some trouble with her breathing. She woke up and was gasping. 
Dr. Campbell went to her and gave her something that would help her. 
Melanctha came out from the other room and did things as he told her. 
They together made 'Mis' Herbert more comfortable and easy, and soon 
she was again in her deep sleep. 

Dr. Campbell went back to the steps where he had been sitting. 
Melanctha came and stood a little while beside him, and then she sat 
down and watched him reading. By and by they began with their talk- 
ing. Jeff Campbell began to feel that perhaps it was all different. Per- 
haps it was not just play, with Melanctha. Anyway he liked it very well 
that she was with him. He began to tell her about the book he was just 

Melanctha was very intelligent always in her questions. Jefferson knew 
now very well that she had a good mind. They were having a very good 
time, talking there together. And then they began again to get quiet. 

"It certainly was very good in you to come back and talk to me Miss 
Melanctha," Jefferson said at last to her, for now he was almost certain, 
it was no game she was playing. Melanctha really was a good woman, 
and she had a good mind, and she had a real, strong sweetness, and she 
could surely really teach him. "Oh I always like to talk to you Dr. Camp- 
bell," said Melanctha, "And then you was only just honest to me, and I 
always like it when a man is really honest to me." Then they were again 
very silent, sitting there together, with the lamp between them, that 
was always smoking. Melanctha began to lean a little more toward Dr. 
Campbell, where he was sitting, and then she took his hand between her 
two and pressed it hard, but she said nothing to him. She let it go then 
and leaned a little nearer to him. Jefferson moved a little but did not do 
anything in answer. At last, "Well," said Melanctha sharply to him. "I 
was just thinking," began Dr. Campbell slowly, "I was just wondering," 
he was beginning to get ready to go on with his talking. "Don't you ever 
stop with your thinking long enough ever to have any feeling Jeff 
Campbell," said Melanctha a little sadly. "I don't know," said Jeff 
Campbell slowly, "I don't know Miss Melanctha much about that. No, 
I don't stop thinking much Miss Melanctha and if I can't ever feel 
without stopping thinking, I certainly am very much afraid Miss Me- 
lanctha that I never will do much with that kind of feeling. Sure you 
ain't worried Miss Melanctha, about my really not feeling very much all 
the time. I certainly do think I feel some, Miss Melanctha, even though 


I always do it without ever knowing how to stop with my thinking." 
"I am certainly afraid I don't think much of your kind of feeling Dr. 
Campbell." "Why I think you certainly are wrong, Miss Melanctha. I 
certainly do think I feel as much for you Miss Melanctha, as you ever 
feel about me, sure I do. I don't think you know me right when you 
talk like that to me. Tell me just straight out how much do you care 
about me, Miss Melanctha." "Care about you Jeff Campbell," said Me- 
lanctha slowly. "I certainly do care for you Jeff Campbell less than you 
are always thinking and much more than you are ever knowing." 

Jeff Campbell paused on this, and he was silent with the power of 
Melanctha's meaning. They sat there together very silent, a long time. 
"Well Jeff Campbell," said Melanctha. "Oh," said Dr. Campbell and he 
moved himself a little, and then they were very silent a long time. 
"Haven't you got nothing to say to me Jeff Campbell?" said Melanctha. 
"Why yes, what was it we were just saying about to one another. You 
see Miss Melanctha I am a very quiet, slow minded kind of fellow, and 
I am never sure I know just exactly what you mean by all that you are 
always saying to me. But I do like you very much Miss Melanctha and I 
am very sure you got very good things in you all the time. You sure do 
believe what I am saying to you Miss Melanctha." "Yes I believe it when 
you say it to me, Jeff Campbell," said Melanctha, and then she was silent 
and there was much sadness in it. "I guess I go in and lie down again 
Dr. Campbell," said Melanctha. "Don't go leave me Miss Melanctha," 
said Jeff Campbell quickly. "Why not, what you want of me Jeff Camp- 
bell?" said Melanctha. "Why," said Jeff Campbell slowly, "I just want 
to go on talking with you. I certainly do like talking about all kinds of 
things with you. You certainly know that all right, Miss Melanctha." 
"I guess I go lie down again and leave you here with your thinking," 
said Melanctha gently. "I certainly am very tired to-night Dr. Campbell. 
Good night I hope you rest well Dr. Campbell." Melanctha stooped over 
him, where he was sitting, to say this good night, and then, very quick 
and sudden, she kissed him and then, very quick again, she went away 
and left him. 

Dr. Campbell sat there very quiet with only a little thinking and some- 
times a beginning feeling, and he was alone until it began to be morn- 
ing, and then he went, and Melanctha helped him, and he made 'Mis' 
Herbert more easy in her dying. 'Mis' Herbert lingered on till about ten 
o'clock the next morning, and then slowly and without much pain she 


died away. Jeff Campbell staid till the last moment, with Melanctha, to 
make her mother's dying easy for her. When it was over he sent in the 
colored woman from next door to help Melanctha fix things, and then 
he went away to take care of his other patients. He came back very soon 
to Melanctha. He helped her to have a funeral for her mother. Melanc- 
tha then went to live with the good natured woman, who had been her 
neighbor. Melanctha still saw Jeff Campbell very often. Things began to 
be very strong between them. 

Melanctha now never wandered, unless she was with Jeff Campbell. 
Sometimes she and he wandered a good deal together. Jeff Campbell had 
not got over his way of talking to her all the time about all the things he 
was always thinking. Melanctha never talked much, now, when they 
were together. Sometimes Jeff Campbell teased her about her not talking 
to him. "I certainly did think Melanctha you was a great talker from the 
way Jane Harden and everybody said things to me, and from the way I 
heard you talk so much when I first met you. Tell me true Melanctha, 
why don't you talk more now to me, perhaps it is I talk so much I don't 
give you any chance to say things to me, or perhaps it is you hear me 
talk so much you don't think so much now of a whole lot of talking. 
Tell me honest Melanctha, why don't you talk more to me." "You know 
very well Jeff Campbell," said Melanctha, "You certainly do know very 
well Jeff, you don't think really much, of my talking. You think a whole 
lot more about everything than I do Jeff, and you don't care much what 
I got to say about it. You know that's true what I am saying Jeff, if you 
want to be real honest, the way you always are when I like you so much." 
Jeff laughed and looked fondly at her. "I don't say ever I know, you 
ain't right, when you say things like that to me, Melanctha. You see you 
always like to be talking just what you think everybody wants to be 
hearing from you, and when you are like that, Melanctha, honest, I cer- 
tainly don't care very much to hear you, but sometimes you say some- 
thing that is what you are really thinking, and then I like a whole lot to 
hear you talking." Melanctha smiled, with her strong sweetness, on him, 
and she felt her power very deeply. "I certainly never do talk very much 
when I like anybody really, Jeff. You see, Jeff, it ain't much use to talk 
about what a woman is really feeling in her. You see all that, Jeff, better, 
by and by, when you get to really feeling. You won't be so ready then 
always with your talking. You see, Jeff, if it don't come true what I am 
saying." "I don't ever say you ain't always right, Melanctha," said Jeff 


Campbell. "Perhaps what I call my thinking ain't really so very under- 
standing. I don't say, no never now any more, you ain't right, Melanc- 
tha, when you really say things to me. Perhaps I see it all to be very 
different when I come to really see what you mean by what you are 
always saying to me." "You is very sweet and good to me always, Jeff 
Campbell," said Melanctha." " 'Deed I certainly am not good to you, 
Melanctha. Don't I bother you all the time with my talking, but I really 
do like you a whole lot, Melanctha." "And I like you, Jeff Campbell, 
and you certainly are mother, and father, and brother, and sister, and 
child and everything, always to me. I can't say much about how good 
you been to me, Jeff Campbell, I never knew any man who was good 
and didn't do things ugly, before I met you to take care of me, Jeff 
Campbell. Good-by, Jeff, come see me to-morrow, when you get through 
with your working." "Sure Melanctha, you know that already," said 
Jeff Campbell, and then he went away and left her. 

These months had been an uncertain time for Jeff Campbell. He never 
knew how much he really knew about Melanctha. He saw her now for 
long times and very often. He was beginning always more and more to 
like her. But he did not seem to himself to know very much about her. 
He was beginning to feel he could almost trust the goodness in her. But 
then, always, really, he was not very sure about her. Melanctha always 
had ways that made him feel uncertain with her, and yet he was so near, 
in his feeling for her. He now never thought about all this in real words 
any more. He was always letting it fight itself out in him. He was now 
never taking any part in this fighting that was always going on inside 

Jeff always loved now to be with Melanctha and yet he always hated 
to go to her. Somehow he was always afraid when he was to go to her, 
and yet he had made himself very certain that here he would not be a 
coward. He never felt any of this being afraid, when he was with her. 
Then they always were very true, and near to one another. But always 
when he was going to her, Jeff would like anything that could happen 
that would keep him a little longer from her. 

It was a very uncertain time, all these months, for Jeff Campbell. He 
did not know very well what it was that he really wanted. Pie was very 
certain that he did not know very well what it was that Melanctha 
wanted. Jeff Campbell had always all his life loved to be with people, 
and he had loved all his life always to be thinking, but he was still only 


a great boy, was Jeff Campbell, and he had never before had any of 
this funny kind of feeling. Now, this evening, when he was free to go 
and see Melanctha, he talked to anybody he could find who would de- 
tain him, and so it was very late when at last he came to the house where 
Melanctha was waiting to receive him. 

Jeff came in to where Melanctha was waiting for him, and he took 
off his hat and heavy coat, and then drew up a chair and sat down by 
the fire. It was very cold that night, and Jeff sat there, and rubbed his 
hands and tried to warm them. He had only said "How do you do" to 
Melanctha, he had not yet begun to talk to her. Melanctha sat there, by 
the fire, very quiet. The heat gave a pretty pink glow to her pale yellow 
and attractive face. Melanctha sat in a low chair, her hands, with their 
long, fluttering fingers, always ready to show her strong feeling, were 
lying quiet in her lap. Melanctha was very tired with her waiting for 
Jeff Campbell. She sat there very quiet and just watching. Jeff was a 
robust, dark, healthy, cheery negro. His hands were firm and kindly and 
unimpassioned. He touched women always with his big hands, like a 
brother. He always had a warm broad glow, like southern sunshine. He 
never had anything mysterious in him. He was open, he was pleasant, 
he was cheery, and always he wanted, as Melanctha once had wanted, 
always now he too wanted really to understand. 

Jeff sat there this evening in his chair and was silent a long time, 
warming himself with the pleasant fire. He did not look at Melanctha 
who was watching. He sat there and just looked into the fire. At first 
his dark, open face was smiling, and he was rubbing the back of his 
black-brown hand over his mouth to help him in his smiling. Then he 
was thinking, and he frowned and rubbed his head hard, to help him 
in his thinking. Then he smiled again, but now his smiling was not very 
pleasant. His smile was now wavering on the edge of scorning. His 
smile changed more and more, and then he had a look as if he were 
deeply down, all disgusted. Now his face was darker, and he was bitter 
in his smiling, and he began, without looking from the fire, to talk to 
Melanctha, who was now very tense with her watching. 

"Melanctha Herbert," began Jeff Campbell, "I certainly after all this 
time I know you, I certainly do know little, real about you. You see, 
Melanctha, it's like this way with me"; Jeff was frowning, with his 
thinking and looking very hard into the fire, "You see it's just this way, 
with me now, Melanctha. Sometimes you seem like one kind of a girl 


to me, and sometimes you are like a girl that is all different to me, and 
the two kinds of girls is certainly very different to each other, and I 
can't see any way they seem to have much to do, to be together in you. 
They certainly don't seem to be made much like as if they could have 
anything really to do with each other. Sometimes you are a girl to me 
I certainly never would be trusting, and you got a laugh then so hard, 
it just rattles, and you got ways so bad, I can't believe you mean them 
hardly, and yet all that I just been saying is certainly you one way I 
often see you, and it's what your mother and Jane Harden always found 
you, and it's what makes me hate so, to come near you. And then cer- 
tainly sometimes, Melanctha, you certainly is all a different creature, and 
sometimes then there comes out in you what is certainly a thing, like a 
real beauty. I certainly, Melanctha, never can tell just how it is that it 
comes so lovely. Seems to me when it comes it's got a real sweetness > 
that is more wonderful than a pure flower, and a gentleness, that is 
more tender than the sunshine, and a kindness, that makes one feel like 
summer, and then a way to know, that makes everything all over, and 
all that, and it does certainly seem to be real for the little while it's last- 
ing, for the little while that I can surely see it, and it gives me to feel like 
I certainly had got real religion. And then when I got rich with such a 
feeling, comes all that other girl, and then that seems more likely that 
that is really you what's honest and then 1 certainly do get awful afraid 
to come to you, and I certainly never do feel I could be very trusting 
with you. And then I certainly don't know anything at all about you, 
and I certainly don't know which is a real Melanctha Herbert, and I 
certainly don't feel no longer, I ever want to talk to you. Tell me honest, 
Melanctha, which is the way that is you really, when you are alone, and 
real, and all honest. Tell me, Melanctha, for I certainly do want to 
know it." 

Melanctha did not make him any answer, and Jeff, without looking 
at her, after a little while, went on with his talking. "And then, Melanc- 
tha, sometimes you certainly do seem sort of cruel, and not to care about 
people being hurt or in trouble, something so hard about you it makes me 
sometimes real nervous, sometimes somehow like you always, like your 
being, with 'Mis' Herbert. You sure did do everything that any woman 
could, Melanctha, I certainly never did see anybody do things any better, 
and yet, I don't know how to say just what I mean, Melanctha, but there 
was something awful hard about your feeling, so different from the 


way I'm always used to see good people feeling, and so it was the way 
Jane Harden and 'Mis' Herbert talked when they felt strong to talk 
about you, and yet, Melanctha, somehow I feel so really near to you, 
and you certainly have got an awful wonderful, strong kind of sweet- 
ness. I certainly would like to know for sure, Melanctha, whether I got 
really anything to be afraid for. I certainly did think once, Melanctha, I 
knew something about all kinds of women. I certainly know now really, 
how I don't know anything sure at all about you, Melanctha, though I 
been with you so long, and so many times for whole hours with you, 
and I like so awful much to be with you, and I can always say anything 
I am thinking to you. I certainly do awful wish, Melanctha, I really was 
more understanding. I certainly do that same, Melanctha." 

Jeff stopped now and looked harder than before into the fire. His face 
changed from his thinking back into that look that was so like as if he 
was all through and through him, disgusted with what he had been 
thinking. He sat there a long time, very quiet, and then slowly, some- 
how, it came strongly to him that Melanctha Herbert, there beside him, 
was trembling and feeling it all to be very bitter. "Why, Melanctha," 
cried Jeff Campbell, and he got up and put his arm around her like a 
brother. "I stood it just so long as I could bear it, Jeff," sobbed Melanc- 
tha, and then she gave herself away, to her misery, "I was awful ready, 
Jeff, to let you say anything you liked that gave you any pleasure. You 
could say all about me what you wanted, Jeff, and I would try to stand 
it, so as you would be sure to be liking it, Jeff, but you was too cruel to 
me. When you do that kind of seeing how much you can make a 
woman suffer, you ought to give her a little rest, once sometimes, Jeff. 
They can't any of us stand it so for always, Jeff. I certainly did stand it 
just as long as I could, so you would like it, but I, oh Jeff, you went on 
too long to-night Jeff. I couldn't stand it not a minute longer the way 
you was doing of it, Jeff. When you want to be seeing how the way a 
woman is really made of, Jeff, you shouldn't never be so cruel, never to 
be thinking how much she can stand, the strong way you always do it, 
Jeff." "Why, Melanctha," cried Jeff Campbell, in his horror, and then 
he was very tender to her, and like a good, strong, gentle brother in his 
soothing of her, "Why Melanctha dear, I certainly don't now see what it 
is you mean by what you was just saying to me. Why Melanctha, you 
poor little girl, you certainly never did believe I ever knew I was giving 
you real suffering. Why, Melanctha, how could you ever like me if you 


thought I ever could be so like a red Indian?" "I didn't just know, Jeff," 
and Melanctha nestled to him, "I certainly never did know just what it 
was you wanted to be doing with me, but I certainly wanted you should 
do anything you liked, you wanted, to make me more understanding 
for you. I tried awful hard to stand it, Jeff, so as you could do anything 
you wanted with me." "Good Lord and Jesus Christ, Melanctha!" cried 
Jeff Campbell. "I certainly never can know anything about you real, 
Melanctha, you poor little girl," and Jeff drew her closer to him, "But I 
certainly do admire and trust you a whole lot now, Melanctha. I cer- 
tainly do, for I certainly never did think I was hurting you at all, Me- 
lanctha, by the things I always been saying to you. Melanctha, you poor 
little, sweet, trembling baby now, be good, Melanctha. I certainly can't 
ever tell you how awful sorry I am to hurt you so, Melanctha. I do 
anything I can to show you how I never did mean to hurt you, Melanc- 
tha." "I know, I know," murmured Melanctha, clinging to him. "I know 
you are a good man, Jeff. I always know that, no matter how much you 
can hurt me." "I sure don't see how you can think so, Melanctha, if you 
certainly did think I was trying so hard just to hurt you." "Hush, you 
are only a great big boy, Jeff Campbell, and you don't know nothing yet 
about real hurting," said Melanctha, smiling up through her crying, at 
him. "You see, Jeff, I never knew anybody I could know real well and 
yet keep on always respecting, till I came to know you real well, Jeff." 
"I sure don't understand that very well, Melanctha. I ain't a bit better 
than just lots of others of the colored people. You certainly have been 
unlucky with the kind you met before me, that's all, Melanctha. I cer- 
tainly ain't very good, Melanctha." "Hush, Jeff, you don't know noth- 
ing at all about what you are," said Melanctha. "Perhaps you are right, 
Melanctha. I don't say ever any more, you ain't right, when you say 
things to me, Melanctha," and Jefferson sighed, and then he smiled, 
and then they were quiet a long time together, and then after some 
more kindness, it was late, and then Jeff left her. 

Jeff Campbell, all these months, had never told his good mother any- 
thing about Melanctha Herbert. Somehow he always kept his seeing her 
so much now, to himself. Melanctha too had never had any of her other 
friends meet him. They always acted together, these two, as if their 
being so much together was a secret, but really there was no one who 
would have made it any harder for them. Jeff Campbell did not really 
know how it had happened that they were so secret. He did not know 


if it was what Melanctha wanted. Jeff had never spoken to her at all 
about it. It just seemed as if it were well understood between them that 
nobody should know that they were so much together. It was as if it were 
agreed between them, that they should be alone by themselves always, 
and so they would work out together what they meant by what they 
were always saying to each other. 

Jefferson often spoke to Melanctha about his good mother. He never 
said anything about whether Melanctha would want to meet her. Jeffer- 
son never quite understood why all this had happened so, in secret. He 
never really knew what it was that Melanctha really wanted. In all these 
ways he just, by his nature, did, what he sort of felt Melanctha wanted. 
And so they continued to be alone and much together, and now it had 
come to be the spring time, and now they had all out-doors to wander. 

They had many days now when they were very happy. Jeff every 
day found that he really liked Melanctha better. Now surely he was be- 
ginning to have real, deep feeling in him. And still he loved to talk 
himself out to Melanctha, and he loved to tell her how good it all was 
to him, and how he always loved to be with her, and to tell her always 
all about it. One day, now Jeff arranged, that Sunday they would go out 
and have a happy, long day in the bright fields, and they would be all 
day just alone together. The day before, Jeff was called in to see Jane 

Jane Harden was very sick almost all day and Jeff Campbell did 
everything he could to make her better. After a while Jane became more 
easy and then she began to talk to Jeff about Melanctha. Jane did not 
know how much Jeff was now seeing of Melanctha. Jane these days 
never saw Melanctha. Jane began to talk of the time when she first knew 
Melanctha. Jane began to tell how in these days Melanctha had very 
little understanding. She was young then and she had a good mind. Jane 
Harden never would say Melanctha never had a good mind, but in those 
days Melanctha certainly had not been very understanding. Jane began 
to explain to Jeff Campbell how in every way, she Jane, had taught 
Melanctha. Jane then began to explain how eager Melanctha always had 
been for all that kind of learning. Jane Harden began to tell how they 
had wandered. Jane began to tell how Melanctha once had loved her, 
Jane Harden. Jane began to tell Jeff of all the bad ways Melanctha had 
used with her. Jane began to tell all she knew of the way Melanctha had 
gone on, after she had left her. Jane began to tell all about the different 


men, white ones and blacks, Melanctha never was particular about 
things like that, Jane Harden said in passing, not that Melanctha was a 
bad one, and she had a good mind, Jane Harden never would say that 
she hadn't, but Melanctha always liked to use all the understanding ways 
that Jane had taught her, and so she wanted to know everything, always, 
that they knew how to teach her. 

Jane was beginning to make Jeff Campbell see much clearer. Jane 
Harden did not know what it was that she was really doing with all this 
talking. Jane did not know what Jeff was feeling. Jane was always honest 
when she was talking, and now it just happened she had started talking 
about her old times with Melanctha Herbert. Jeff understood very well 
that it was all true what Jane was saying. Jeff Campbell was beginning 
now to see very clearly. He was beginning to feel very sick inside him. 
He know now many things Melanctha had not yet taught him. He felt 
very sick and his heart was very heavy, and Melanctha certainly did seem 
very ugly to him. Jeff was at last beginning to know what it was to have 
deep feeling. He took care a little longer of Jane Harden, and then he 
went to his other patients, and then he went home to his room, and he 
sat down and at last he had stopped thinking. He was very sick and his 
heart was very heavy in him. He was very tired and all the world was 
very dreary to him, and he knew very well now at last, he was really 
feeling. He knew it now from the way it hurt him. He knew very well 
that now at last he was beginning to really have understanding. The 
next day he had arranged to spend, long and happy, all alone in the 
spring fields with Melanctha, wandering. He wrote her a note and said 
he could not go, he had a sick patient and would have to stay home 
with him. For three days after, he made no sign to Melanctha. He was 
very sick all these days, and his heart was very heavy in him, and he 
knew very well that now at last he had learned what it was to have deep 

At last one day he got a letter from Melanctha. "I certainly don't 
rightly understand what you are doing now to me Jeff Campbell," wrote 
Melanctha Herbert. "I certainly don't rightly understand Jeff Camp- 
bell why you ain't all these days been near me, but I certainly do sup- 
pose it's just another one of the queer kind of ways you have to be good, 
and repenting of yourself all of a sudden. I certainly don't say to you Jeff 
Campbell I admire very much the way you take to be good Jeff Camp- 
bell. I am sorry Dr. Campbell, but I certainly am afraid I can't stand it 


no more from you the way you have been just acting. I certainly can't 
stand it any more the way you act when you have been as if you thought 
I was always good enough for anybody to have with them, and then 
you act as if I was a bad one and you always just despise me. I certainly 
am afraid Dr. Campbell I can't stand it any more like that. I certainly 
can't stand it any more the way you are always changing. I certainly am 
afraid Dr. Campbell you ain't man enough to deserve to have any- 
body care so much to be always with you. I certainly am awful afraid 
Dr. Campbell I don't ever any more want to really see you. Good-by Dr. 
Campbell I wish you always to be real happy." 

Jeff Campbell sat in his room, very quiet, a long time, after he got 
through reading this letter. He sat very still and first he was very angry. 
As if he, too, did not know very badly what it was to suffer keenly. As 
if he had not been very strong to stay with Melanctha when he never 
knew what it was that she really wanted. He knew he was very right 
to be angry, he knew he really had not been a coward. He knew Me- 
lanctha had done many things it was very hard for him to forgive her. 
He knew very well he had done his best to be kind, and to trust her, 
and to be loyal to her, and now and then Jeff suddenly remembered 
how one night Melanctha had been so strong to suffer, and he felt come 
back to him the sweetness in her, and then Jeff knew that really, he al- 
ways forgave her, and that really, it all was that he was so sorry he had 
hurt her, and he wanted to go straight away and be a comfort to her. 
Jeff knew very well, that what Jane Harden had told him about Me- 
lanctha and her bad ways, had been a true story, and yet he wanted 
very badly to be with Melanctha. Perhaps she could teach him to really 
understand it better. Perhaps she could teach him how it could be all 
true, and yet how he could be right to believe in her and to trust her. 

Jeff sat down and began his answer to her. "Dear Melanctha," Jeff 
wrote to her. "I certainly don't think you got it all just right in the letter, 
I just been reading, that you just wrote me. I certainly don't think you 
are just fair or very understanding to all I have to suffer to keep straight 
on to really always to believe in you and trust you. I certainly don't 
think you always are fair to remember right how hard it is for a man, 
who thinks like I was always thinking, not to think you do things very 
bad very often. I certainly don't think, Melanctha, I ain't right when 
I was so angry when I got your letter to me. I know very well, Melanc- 
tha, that with you, I never have been a coward. I find it very hard, and 


I never said it any different, it is hard to me to be understanding, and 
to know really what it is you wanted, and what it is you are meaning 
by what you are always saying to me. I don't say ever, it ain't very hard 
for you to be standing that I ain't very quick to be following which- 
ever way that you are always leading. You know very well, Melanctha, 
it hurts me very bad and way inside me when I have to hurt you, but 
I always got to be real honest with you. There ain't no other way for 
me to be, with you, and I know very well it hurts me too, a whole lot, 
when I can't follow so quick as you would have me. I don't like to be 
a coward to you, Melanctha, and I don't like to say what I ain't mean- 
ing to you. And if you don't want me to do things honest, Melanctha, 
why I can't ever talk to you, and you are right when you say, you never 
again wdnt to see me, but if you got any real sense of what I always 
been feeling with you, and if you got any right sense, Melanctha, of 
how hard I been trying to think and to feel right for you, I will be very 
glad to come and see you, and to begin again with you. I don't say any- 
thing now, Melanctha, about how bad I been this week, since I saw you, 
Melanctha. It don't ever do any good to talk such things over. All I know 
is I do my best, Melanctha, to you, and I don't say, no, never, I can do 
any different than just to be honest and come as fast as I think it's right 
for me to be going in the ways you teach me to be really understanding. 
So don't talk any more foolishness, Melanctha, about my always chang- 
ing. I don't change, never, and I got to do what I think is right and 
honest to me, and I never told you any different, and you always knew 
it very well that I always would do just so. If you like me to come and 
see you to-morrow, and go out with you, I will be very glad to, Melanc- 
tha. Let me know right away, what it is you want me to be doing for 
you, Melanctha. 

Very truly yours, 


"Please come to me, Jeff." Melanctha wrote back for her answer. Jeff 
went very slowly to Melanctha, glad as he was, still to be going to her. 
Melanctha came, very quick, to meet him, when she saw him from 
where she had been watching for him. They went into the house to- 
gether. They were very glad to be together. They were very good to one 

"I certainly did think, Melanctha, this time almost really, you never 


did want me to come to you at all any more to see you," said Jefl Camp- 
bell to her, when they had begun again with their talking to each other. 
"You certainly did make me think, perhaps really this time, Melanctha, 
it was all over, my being with you ever, and I was very mad, and very 
sorry, too, Melanctha." 

"Well you certainly was very bad to me, Jeff Campbell," said Me- 
lanctha, fondly. 

"I certainly never do say any more you ain't always right, Melanctha," 
Jeff answered and he was very ready now with cheerful laughing, "I 
certainly never do say that any more, Melanctha, if I know it, but still, 
really, Melanctha, honest, I think perhaps I wasn't real bad to you any 
more thanyou just needed from me." 

Jefl held Melanctha in his arms and kissed her. He sighed then and 
was very silent with her. "Well, Melanctha," he said at last, with some 
more laughing, "well, Melanctha, any way you can't say ever it ain't, if 
we are ever friends good and really, you can't say, no, never, but that 
we certainly have worked right hard to get both of us together for it, 
so we shall sure deserve it then, if we can ever really get it." "We cer- 
tainly have worked real hard, Jeff, I can't say that ain't all right the way 
you say it," said Melanctha. "I certainly never can deny it, Jeff, when 
I feel so worn with all the trouble you been making for me, you bad 
boy, Jeff," and then Melanctha smiled and then she sighed, and then she 
was very silent with him. 

At last Jeff was to go away. They stood there on the steps for a long 
time trying to say good-by to each other. At last Jeff made himself really 
say it. At last he made himself, that he went down the steps and went 

On the next Sunday they arranged, they were to have the long happy 
day of wandering that they had lost last time by Jane Harden's talking. 
Not that Melanctha Herbert had heard yet of Jane Harden's talking. 

Jeff saw Melanctha every day now. Jeff was a little uncertain all this 
time inside him, for he had never yet told to Melanctha what it was that 
had so nearly made him really want to leave her. Jeff knew that for him, 
it was not right he should not tell her. He knew they could only have 
real peace between them when he had been honest, and had really told 
her. On this long Sunday Jeff was certain that he would really tell her. 

They were very happy all that day in their wandering. They had 
taken things along to eat together. They sat in the bright fields and they 


were happy, they wandered in the woods and they were happy. Jeff 
always loved in this way to wander. Jeff always loved to watch every- 
thing as it was growing, and he loved all the colors in the trees and on 
the ground, and the little, new, bright colored bugs he found in the moist 
ground and in the grass he loved to lie on and in which he was always 
so busy searching. Jeff loved everything that moved and that was still, 
and that had color, and beauty, and real being. 

Jeff loved very much this day while they were wandering. He almost 
forgot that he had any trouble with him still inside him. Jeff loved to 
be there with Melanctha Herbert. She was always so sympathetic to him 
for the way she listened to everything he found and told her, the way 
she felt his joy in all this being, the way she never said she wanted any- 
thing different from the way they had it. It was certainly a busy and a 
happy day, this their first long day of really wandering. 

Later they were tired, and Melanctha sat down on the ground, and 
Jeff threw himself his full length beside her. Jeff lay there, very quiet, 
and then he pressed her hand and kissed it and murmured to her, "You 
certainly are very good to me, Melanctha." Melanctha felt it very deep 
and did not answer. Jeff lay there a long time, looking up above him. 
He was counting all the little leaves he saw above him. He was follow- 
ing all the little clouds with his eyes as they sailed past him. He watched 
all the birds that flew high beyond him, and all the time Jeff knew he 
must tell to Melanctha what it was he knew now, that which Jane 
Harden, just a week ago, had told him. He knew very well that for him 
it was certain that he had to say it. It was hard, but for Jeff Campbell 
the only way to lose it was to say it, the only way to know Melanctha 
really, was to tell her all the struggle he had made to know her, to tell 
her so she could help him to understand his trouble better, to help him 
so that never again he could have any way to doubt her. 

Jeff lay there a long time, very quiet, always looking up above him, 
and yet feeling very close now to Melanctha. At last he turned a little 
toward her, took her hands closer in his to make him feel it stronger, 
and then very slowly, for the words came very hard for him, slowly he 
began his talk to her. 

"Melanctha," began Jeff, very slowly, "Melanctha, it ain't right I 
shouldn't tell you why I went away last week and almost never got the 
chance again to see you. Jane Harden was sick, and I went in to take 
care of her. She began to tell everything she ever knew about you. She 


didn't know how well now I know you. I didn't tell her not to go on 
talking. I listened while she told me everything about you. I certainly 
found it very hard with what she told me. I know she was talking truth 
in everything she said about you. I knew you had been free in your ways, 
Melanctha, I knew you liked to get excitement the way I always hate 
to see the colored people take it. I didn't know, till I heard Jane Harden 
say it, you had done things so bad, Melanctha. When Jane Harden told 
me, I got very sick, Melanctha. I couldn't bear hardly, to think, perhaps 
I was just another like them to you, Melanctha. I was wrong not to trust 
you perhaps, Melanctha, but it did make things very ugly to me. I try 
to be honest to you, Melanctha, the way you say you really want it 
from me." 

Melanctha drew her hands from Jeff Campbell. She sat there, and 
there was deep scorn in her anger. 

"If you wasn't all through just selfish and nothing else, Jeff Campbell, 
you would take care you wouldn't have to tell me things like this, Jeff 

Jeff was silent a little, and he waited before he gave his answer. It was 
not the power of Melanctha's words that held him, for, for them, he 
had his answer, it was the power of the mood that filled Melanctha, and 
for that he had no answer. At last he broke through this awe, with his 
slow fighting resolution, and he began to give his answer. 

"I don't say ever, Melanctha," he began, "it wouldn't have been more 
right for me to stop Jane Harden in her talking and to come to you to 
have you tell me what you were when I never knew you. I don't say 
it, no never to you, that that would not have been the right way for me 
to do, Melanctha. But I certainly am without any kind of doubting, I 
certainly do know for sure, I had a good right to know about what you 
were and your ways and your trying to use your understanding, every 
kind of way you could to get your learning. I certainly did have a right 
to know things like that about you, Melanctha. I don't say it ever, Me- 
lanctha, and I say it very often, I don't say ever I shouldn't have stopped 
Jane Harden in her talking and come to you and asked you yourself to 
tell me all about it, but I guess I wanted to keep myself from how much 
it would hurt me more, to have you yourself say it to me. Perhaps it 
was I wanted to keep you from having it hurt you so much more, having 
you to have to tell it to me. I don't know, I don't say it was to help you 
from being hurt most, or to help me. Perhaps I was a coward to let Jane 


Harden tell me 'stead of coming straight to you, to have you tell me, 
but I certainly am sure, Melanctha, I certainly had a right to know such 
things about you. I don't say it ever, ever, Melanctha, I hadn't the just 
right to know those things about you." Melanctha laughed her harsh 
laugh. "You needn't have been under no kind of worry, Jeff Campbell, 
about whether you should have asked me. You could have asked, it 
wouldn't have hurt nothing. I certainly never would have told you 
nothing." "I am not so sure of that, Melanctha," said Jeff Campbell. "I 
certainly do think you would have told me. I certainly do think I could 
make you feel it right to tell me. I certainly do think all I did wrong was 
to let Jane Harden tell me. I certainly do know I never did wrong, to 
learn what she told me. I certainly know very well, Melanctha, if I had 
come here to you, you would have told it all to me, Melanctha." 

He was silent, and this struggle lay there, strong, between them. It 
was a struggle, sure to be going on always between them. It was a strug- 
gle that was as sure always to be going on between them, as their minds 
and hearts always were to have different ways of working. 

At last Melanctha took his hand, leaned over him and kissed him. 
"I sure am very fond of you, Jeff Campbell," Melanctha whispered to 
him. . 

Now for a little time there was not any kind of trouble between Jeff 
Campbell and Melanctha Herbert. They were always together now for 
long times, and very often. They got much joy now, both of them, from 
being all the time together. 

It was summer now, and they had warm sunshine to wander. It was 
summer now, and Jeff Campbell had more time to wander, for colored 
people never get sick so much in summer. It was summer now, and 
there was a lovely silence everywhere, and all the noises, too, that they 
heard around them were lovely ones, and added to the joy, in these warm 
days, they loved so much to be together. 

They talked some to each other in these days, did Jeff Campbell and 
Melanctha Herbert, but always in these days their talking more and 
more was like it always is with real lovers. Jeff did not talk so much now 
about what he before always had been thinking. Sometimes Jeff would 
be, as if he was just waking from himself to be with Melanctha, and 
then he would find he had been really all the long time with her, and 
he had really never needed to be doing any thinking. 

It was sometimes pure joy Jeff would be talking to Melanctha, in 


these warm days he loved so much to wander with her. Sometimes Jeff 
would lose all himself in a strong feeling. Very often now, and always 
with more joy in his feeling, he would find himself, he did not know 
how or what it was he had been thinking. And Melanctha always loved 
very well to make him feel it. She always now laughed a little at him, 
and went back a little in him to his before, always thinking, and she 
teased him with his always now being so good with her in his feeling, 
and then she would so well and freely, and with her pure, strong ways 
of reaching, she would give him all the love she knew now very well, 
how much he always wanted to be sure he really had it. 

And JefT took it straight now, and he loved it, and he felt, strong, the 
joy of all this being, and it swelled out full inside him, and he poured 
it all out back to her in freedom, in tender kindness, and in joy, and in 
gentle brother fondling. And Melanctha loved him for it always, her 
Jeff Campbell now, who never did things ugly, for her, like all the men 
she always knew before always had been doing to her. And they loved 
it always, more and more, together, with this new feeling they had now, 
in these long summer days so warm; they, always together now, just 
these two so dear, more and more to each other always, and the sum- 
mer evenings when they wandered, and the noises in the full streets, 
and the music of the organs, and the dancing, and the warm smell of 
the people, and of dogs and of the horses, and all the joy of the strong, 
sweet pungent, dirty, moist, warm negro southern summer. 

Every day now, Jeff seemed to be coming nearer, to be really loving. 
Every day now, Melanctha poured it all out to him, with more freedom. 
Every day now, they seemed to be having more and more, both together, 
of this strong, right feeling. More and more every day now they seemed 
to know more really, what it was each other one was always feeling. 
More and more now every day Jeff found in himself, he felt more trust- 
ing. More and more every day now, he did not think anything in words 
about what he was always doing. Every day now more and more Me- 
lanctha would let out to Jeff her real, strong feeling. 

One day there had been much joy between them, more than they ever 
yet had had with their new feeling. All the day they had lost themselves 
in warm wandering. Now they were lying there and resting, with a 
green, bright, light-flecked world around them. 

What was it that now really happened to them? What was it that 
Melanctha did, that made everything get all ugly for them ? What was 


it that Melanctha felt then, that made Jeff remember all the feeling he 
had had in him when Jane Harden told him how Melanctha had learned 
to be so very understanding? Jeff did not know how it was that it had 
happened to him. It was all green, and warm, and very lovely to him, 
and now Melanctha somehow had made it all so ugly for him. What 
was it Melanctha was now doing with him ? What was it he used to be 
thinking was the right way for him and all the colored people to be 
always trying to make it right, the way they should be always living ? 
Why was Melanctha Herbert now all so ugly for him ? 

Melanctha Herbert somehow had made him feel deeply just then, 
what very more it was that she wanted from him. Jeff Campbell now 
felt in him what everybody always had needed to make them really 
understanding, to him. Jeff felt a strong disgust inside him; not for Me- 
lanctha herself, to him, not for himself really, in him, not for what it 
was that everybody wanted, in them; he only had disgust because he 
never could know really in him, what it was he wanted, to be really 
right in understanding, for him, he only had disgust because he never 
could know really what it was really right to him to be always doing, 
in the things he had before believed in, the things he before had believed 
in for himself and for all the colored people, the living regular, and the 
never wanting to be always having new things, just to keep on, always 
being in excitements. All the old thinking now came up very strong in- 
side him. He sort of turned away then, and threw Melanctha from him. 

Jeff never, even now, knew what it was that moved him. He never, 
even now, was ever sure, he really knew what Melanctha was, when she 
was real herself, and honest. He thought he knew, and then there came 
to him some moment, just like this one, when she really woke him up 
to be strong in him. Then he really knew he could know nothing. He 
knew then, he never could know what it was she really wanted with 
him. He knew then he never could know really what it was he felt in- 
side him. It was all so mixed up inside him. All he knew was he wanted 
very badly Melanctha should be there beside him, and he wanted very 
badly, too, always to throw her from him. What was it really that Me- 
lanctha wanted with him ? What was it really, he, Jeff Campbell, wanted 
she should give him ? "I certainly did think now," Jeff Campbell groaned 
inside him, "I certainly did think now I really was knowing all right, 
what I wanted. I certainly did really think now I was knowing how to 
be trusting with Melanctha. I certainly did think it was like that now 


with me sure, after all I've been through all this time with her. And now 
I certainly do know I don't know anything that's very real about her. 
Oh the good Lord help and keep me!" and Jeff groaned hard inside him, 
and he buried his face deep in the green grass underneath him, and Me- 
lanctha Herbert was very silent there beside him. 

Then Jeff turned to look and see her. She was lying very still there 
by him, and the bitter water on her face was biting. Jeff was so very 
sorry then, all over and inside him, the way he always was when Me- 
lanctha had been deep hurt by him. "I didn't mean to be so bad again 
to you, Melanctha, dear one," and he was very tender to her. "I certainly 
didn't never mean to go to be so bad to you, Melanctha, darling. I cer- 
tainly don't know, Melanctha, darling, what it is makes me act so to 
you sometimes, when I certainly ain't meaning anything like I want to 
hurt you. I certainly don't mean to be so bad, Melanctha, only it comes 
so quick on me before I know what I am acting to you. I certainly am 
all sorry, hard, to be so bad to you, Melanctha, darling." "I suppose, Jeff," 
said Melanctha, very low and bitter, "I suppose you are always think- 
ing, Jeff, somebody had ought to be ashamed with us two together, and 
you certainly do think you don't see any way to it, Jeff, for me to be feel- 
ing that way ever, so you certainly don't see any way to it, only to do 
it just so often for me. That certainly is the way always with you, Jeff 
Campbell, if I understand you right the way you are always acting to 
me. That certainly is right the way I am saying it to you now, Jeff 
Campbell. You certainly didn't anyway trust me now no more, did 
you, when you just acted so bad to me. I certainly am right the way I 
say it Jeff now to you. I certainly am right when I ask you for it now, 
to tell me what I ask you, about not trusting me more then again, Jeff, 
just like you never really knew me. You certainly never did trust me 
just then, Jeff, you hear me?" "Yes, Melanctha," Jeff answered slowly. 
Melanctha paused. "I guess I certainly never can forgive you this time, 
Jeff Campbell," she said firmly. Jeff paused too, and thought a little. "I 
certainly am afraid you never can no more now again, Melanctha," he 
said sadly. 

They lay there very quiet now a long time, each one thinking very 
hard on their own trouble. At last Jeff began again to tell Melanctha 
what it was he was always thinking with her. "I certainly do know, 
Melanctha, you certainly now don't want any more to be hearing me 
just talking, but you see, Melanctha, really, it's just like this way always 


with me. You see, Melanctha, it's like this way now all the time with 
me. You remember, Melanctha, what I was once telling to you, when 
I didn't know you very long together, about how I certainly never did 
know more than just two kinds of ways of loving, one way the way it 
is good to be in families and the other kind of way, like animals are all 
the time just with each other, and how I didn't ever like that last kind 
of way much for any of the colored people. You see Melanctha, it's like 
this way with me. I got a new feeling now, you been teaching to me, 
just like I told you once, just like a new religion to me, and I see per- 
haps what really loving is like, like really having everything together, 
new things, little pieces all different, like I always before been think- 
ing was bad to be having, all go together like, to make one good big 
feeling. You see, Melanctha, it's certainly like that you make me been 
seeing, like I never know before any way there was of all kinds of loving 
to come together to make one way really truly lovely. I see that now, 
sometimes, the way you certainly been teaching me, Melanctha, really, 
and then I love you those times, Melanctha, like a real religion, and 
then it comes over me all sudden, I don't know anything real about you 
Melanctha, dear one, and then it comes over me sudden, perhaps I cer- 
tainly am wrong now, thinking all this way so lovely, and not thinking 
now any more the old way I always before was always thinking, about 
what was the right way for me, to live regular and all the colored people, 
and then I think, perhaps, Melanctha you are really just a bad one, and 
I think, perhaps I certainly am doing it so because I just am too anxious 
to be just having all the time excitements, like I don't ever like really 
to be doing when I know it, and then I always get so bad to you, Me- 
lanctha, and I can't help it with myself then, never, for I want to be 
always right really in the ways, I have to do them. I certainly do very 
badly want to be right, Melanctha, the only way I know is right Me- 
lanctha really, and I don't know any way, Melanctha, to find out really, 
whether my old way, the way I always used to be thinking, or the new 
way, you make so like a real religion to me sometimes, Melanctha, which 
way certainly is the real right way for me to be always thinking, and 
then I certainly am awful good and sorry, Melanctha, I always give you 
so much trouble, hurting you with the bad ways I am acting. Can't you 
help me to any way, to make it all straight for me, Melanctha, so I know 
right and real what it is I should be acting. You see, Melanctha, I don't 
want always to be a coward with you, if I only could know certain what 


was the right way for me to be acting. I certainly am real sure, Melanc- 
tha, that would be the way I would be acting, if I only knew it sure for 
certain now, Melanctha. Can't you help me any way to find out real and 
true, Melanctha, dear one. I certainly do badly want to know always, the 
way I should be acting." 

"No, Jeff, dear, I certainly can't help you much in that kind of trouble 
you are always having. All I can do now, Jeff, is to just keep certainly 
with my believing you are good always, Jeff, and though you certainly 
do hurt me bad, I always got strong faith in you, Jeff, more in you cer- 
tainly, than you seem to be having in your acting to me, always so bad, 

"You certainly are very good to me, Melanctha, dear one," Jeff said, 
after a long, tender silence. "You certainly are very good to me, Me- 
lanctha, darling, and me so bad to you always, in my acting. Do you 
love me good, and right, Melanctha, always?" "Always and always, you 
be sure of that now you have me. Oh you Jeff, you always be so stupid." 
"I certainly never can say now you ain't right, when you say that to me 
so, Melanctha," Jeff answered. "Oh, Jeff dear, I love you always, you 
know that now, all right, for certain. If you don't know it right now, 
Jeff, really, I prove it to you now, for good and always." And they lay 
there a long time in their loving, and then Jeff began again with his 
happy free enjoying. 

"I sure am a good boy to be learning all the time the right way you 
are teaching me, Melanctha, darling," began Jeff Campbell, laughing, 
"You can't say no, never, I ain't a good scholar for you to be teaching 
now, Melanctha, and I am always so ready to come to you every day, 
and never playing hooky ever from you. You can't say ever, Melanctha, 
now can you, I ain't a real good boy to be always studying to be learn- 
ing to be real bright, just like my teacher. You can't say ever to me, I 
ain't a good boy to you now, Melanctha." "Not near so good, Jeff Camp- 
bell, as such a good, patient kind of teacher, like me, who never teaches 
any ways it ain't good her scholars should be knowing, ought to be 
really having, Jeff, you hear me? I certainly don't think I am right for 
you, to be forgiving always, when you are so bad, and I so patient, with 
all this hard teaching always." "But you do forgive me always, sure, 
Melanctha, always?" "Always and always, you be sure Jeff, and I cer- 
tainly am afraid I never can stop with my forgiving, you always are 
going to be so bad to me, and I always going to have to be so good with 


my forgiving. "Oh! Oh!" cried Jeff Campbell, laughing, "I ain't going 
to be so bad for always, sure I ain't, Melanctha, my own darling. And 
sure you do forgive me really, and sure you love me true and really, 
sure, Melanctha?" "Sure, sure, Jeff, boy, sure now and always, sure 
now you believe me, sure you do, Jeff, always." "I sure hope I does, 
with all my heart, Melanctha, darling." "I sure do that same, Jeff, dear 
boy, now you really know what it is to be loving, and I prove it to you 
now so, Jeff, you never can be forgetting. You see now, Jeff, good and 
certain, what I always before been saying to you, Jeff, now." "Yes, Me- 
lanctha, darling," murmured Jeff, and he was very happy in it, and so 
the two of them now in the warm air of the sultry, southern, negro sun- 
shine, lay there for a long time just resting. 

And now for a real long time there was no open trouble any more 
between Jeff Campbell and Melanctha Herbert. Then it came that Jeff 
knew he could not say out any more, what it was he wanted, he could 
not say out any more, what it was, he wanted to know about, what Me- 
lanctha wanted. 

Melanctha sometimes now, when she was tired with being all the time 
so much excited, when Jeff would talk a long time to her about what 
was right for them both to be always doing, would be, as if she gave 
away in her head, and lost herself in a bad feeling. Sometimes when they 
had been strong in their loving, and Jeff would have rise inside him 
some strange feeling, and Melanctha felt it in him as it would soon be 
coming, she would lose herself then in this bad feeling that made her 
head act as if she never knew what it was they were doing. And slowly 
now, Jeff soon always came to be feeling that his Melanctha would be 
hurt very much in her head in the ways he never liked to think of, if 
she would ever now again have to listen to his trouble, when he was 
telling about what it was he still was wanting to make things for himself 
really understanding. 

Now Jeff began to have always a strong feeling that Melanctha could 
no longer stand it, with all her bad suffering, to let him fight out with 
himself what was right for him to be doing. Now he felt he must not, 
when she was there with him, keep on, with this kind of fighting that 
was always going on inside him. Jeff Campbell never knew yet, what 
he thought was the right way, for himself and for all the colored people 
to be living. Jeff was coming always each time closer to be really under- 
standing, but now Melanctha was so bad in her suffering with him, that 


he knew she could not any longer have him with her while he was al- 
ways showing that he never really yet was sure what it was, the right 
way, for them to be really loving. 

Jeff saw now he had to go so fast, so that Melanctha never would 
have to wait any to get from him always all that she ever wanted. He 
never could be honest now, he never could be now, any more, trying to 
be really understanding, for always every moment now he felt it to be a 
strong thing in him, how very much it was Melanctha Herbert always 

Jeff did not know very well these days, what it was, was really hap- 
pening to him. All he knew every now and then, when they were getting 
strong to get excited, the way they used to when he gave his feeling out 
so that he could be always honest, that Melanctha somehow never 
seemed to hear him, she just looked at him and looked as if her head hurt 
with him, and then Jeff had to keep himself from being honest, and he 
had to go so fast, and to do everything Melanctha ever wanted from him. 

Jeff did not like it very well these days, in his true feeling. He knew 
now very well Melanctha was not strong enough inside her to stand any 
more of his slow way of doing. And yet now he knew he was not honest 
in his feeling. Now he always had to show more to Melanctha than he 
was ever feeling. Now she made him go so fast, and he knew it was not 
real with his feeling, and yet he could not make her suffer so any more 
because he always was so slow with his feeling. 

It was very hard for Jeff Campbell to make all this way of doing, right, 
inside him. If Jeff Campbell could not be straight out, and real honest, 
he never could be very strong inside him. Now Melanctha, with her 
making him feel, always, how good she was and how very much she 
suffered in him, made him always go so fast then, he could not be strong 
then, to feel things out straight then inside him. Always now when he 
was with her, he was being more, than he could already yet, be feeling 
for her. Always now, with her, he had something inside him always 
holding in him, always now, with her, he was far ahead of his own 

Jeff Campbell never knew very well these days what it was that was 
going on inside him. All he knew was, he was uneasy now always to 
be with Melanctha. All he knew was, that he was always uneasy when 
he was with Melanctha, not the way he used to be from just not being 
very understanding, but now, because he never could be honest with 


her, because lie was now always feeling her strong suffering, in her, be- 
cause he knew now he was having a straight, good feeling with her, but 
she went so fast, and he was so slow to her; Jeff knew his right feeling 
never got a chance to show itself as strong, to her. 

All this was always getting harder for Jeff Campbell. He was very 
proud to hold himself to be strong, was Jeff Campbell. He was very 
tender not to hurt Melanctha, when he knew she would be sure to feel 
it badly in her head a long time after, he hated that he could not now 
be honest with her, he wanted to stay away to work it out all alone, with- 
out her, he was afraid she would feel it to surfer, if he kept away now 
from her. He was uneasy always, with her, he was uneasy when he 
thought about her, he knew now he had a goodj straight, strong feeling 
of right loving for her, and yet now he never could use it to be good and 
honest with her. 

Jeff Campbell did not know, these days, anything he could do to make 
it better for her. He did not know anything he could do, to set himself 
really right in his acting and his thinking toward her. She pulled him 
so fast with her, and he did not dare to hurt her, and he could not come 
right, so fast, the way she always needed he should be doing it now, for 

These days were not very joyful ones now any more, to Jeff Campbell, 
with Melanctha. He did not think it out to himself now, in words, about 
her. He did not know enough, what was his real trouble, with her. 

Sometimes now and again with them, and with all this trouble for a 
little while well forgotten by him, Jeff, and Melanctha with him, would 
be very happy in a strong, sweet loving. Sometimes then, Jeff would find 
himself to be soaring very high in his true loving. Sometimes Jeff would 
find then, in his loving, his soul swelling out full inside him. Always 
Jeff felt now in himself, deep feeling. 

Always now Jeff had to go so much faster than was real with his feel- 
ing. Yet always Jeff knew now he had a right, strong feeling. Always 
now when Jeff was wondering, it was Melanctha he was doubting, in 
the loving. Now he would often ask her, was she real now to him, in her 
loving. He would ask her often, feeling something queer about it all 
inside him, though yet he was never really strong in his doubting, and 
always Melanctha would answer to him, "Yes Jeff, sure, you know it, 
always," and always Jeff felt a doubt now, in her loving. 


Always now Jeff felt in himself, deep loving. Always now he did not 
know really, if Melanctha was true in her loving. 

All these days Jeff was uncertain in him, and he was uneasy about 
which way he should act so as not to be wrong and put them both into 
bad trouble. Always now he was, as if he must feel deep into Melanctha 
to see if it was real loving he would find she now had in her, and al- 
ways he would stop himself, with her, for always he was afraid now that 
he might badly hurt her. 

Always now he liked it better when he was detained when he had to 
go and see her. Always now he never liked to go to be with her, al- 
though he never wanted really, not to be always with her. Always now 
he never felt really at ease with her, even when they were good friends 
together. Always now he felt, with her, he could not be really honest 
to her. And Jeff never could be happy with her when he could not feel 
strong to tell all his feeling to her. Always now every day he found it 
harder to make the time pass, with her, and not let his feeling come so 
that he would quarrel with her. 

And so one evening, late, he was to go to her. He waited a little long, 
before he went to her. He was afraid, in himself, to-night, he would 
surely hurt her. He never wanted to go when he might quarrel with her. 

Melanctha sat there looking very angry, when he came in to her. Jeff 
took off his hat and coat and then sat down by the fire with her. 

"If you come in much later to me just now, Jeff Campbell, I certainly 
never would have seen you no more never to speak to you, 'thout your 
apologising real humble to me." "Apologising Melanctha," and Jeff 
laughed and was scornful to her, "Apologising, Melanctha, I ain't proud 
that kind of way, Melanctha, I don't mind apologising to you, Melanc- 
tha, all I mind, Melanctha is to be doing of things wrong, to you." 
"That's easy, to say things that way, Jeff to me. But you never was very 
proud Jeff, to be courageous to me." "I don't know about that Melanc- 
tha. I got courage to say some things hard, when I mean them, to you." 
"Oh, yes, Jeff, I know all about that, Jeff, to me. But I mean real courage, 
to run around and not care nothing about what happens, and always 
to be game in any kind of trouble. That's what I mean by real courage, 
to me, Jeff, if you want to know it." "Oh, yes, Melanctha, I know all 
that kind of courage. I see plenty of it all the time with some kinds of 
colored men and with some girls like you Melanctha, and Jane Harden. 


I know all about how you are always making a fuss to be proud because 
"you don't holler so much when you run in to where you ain't got any 
business to be, and so you get hurt, the way you ought to. And then, 
you kind of people are very brave then, sure, with all your kinds of suf- 
fering, but the way I see it, going round with all my patients, that kind 
of courage makes all kind of trouble, for them who ain't so noble with 
their courage, and then they got it, always to be bearing it, when the 
end comes, to be hurt the hardest. It's like running around and being 
game to spend all your money always, and then a man's wife and chil- 
dren are the ones do all the starving and they don't ever get a name 
for being brave, and they don't ever want to be doing all that suffering, 
and they got to stand it and say nothing. That's -the way I see it a good 
deal now with all that kind of braveness in some of the colored people. 
They always make a lot of noise to show they are so brave not to holler, 
when they got so much suffering they always bring all on themselves, 
just by doing things they got no business to be doing. I don't say, never, 
Melanctha, they ain't got good courage not to holler, but I never did see 
much in looking for that kind of trouble just to show you ain't going 
to holler. No it's all right being brave every day, just living regular and 
not having new ways all the time just to get excitements, the way I hate 
to see it in all the colored people. No I don't see much, Melanctha, in 
being brave just to get it good, where you've got no business. I ain't 
ashamed Melanctha, right here to tell you, I ain't ashamed ever to say 
I ain't got no longing to be brave, just to go around and look for 
trouble." "Yes that's just like you always, Jeff, you never understand 
things right, the way you are always feeling in you. You ain't got no 
way to understand right, how it. depends what way somebody goes to 
look for new things, the way it makes it right for them to get excited." 
"No Melanctha, I certainly never do say I understand much anybody's 
got a right to think they won't have real bad trouble, if they go and look 
hard where they are certain sure to find it. No Melanctha, it certainly 
does sound very pretty all this talking about danger and being game 
and never hollering, and all that way of talking, but when two men 
are just fighting, the strong man mostly gets on top with doing good 
hard pounding, and the man that's getting all that pounding, he mostly 
never likes it so far as I have been able yet to see it, and I don't see 
much difference what kind of noble way they are made of when they 
ain't got any kind of business to get together there to be fighting. That 


certainly is the only way I ever see it happen right, Melanctha, when- 
ever I happen to be anywhere I can be looking." "That's because you 
never can see anything that ain't just so simple, Jeff, with everybody, the 
way you always think it. It do make all the difference the kind of way 
anybody is made to do things game Jeff Campbell." "Maybe Melanctha, 
I certainly never say no you ain't right, Melanctha. I just been telling 
it to you all straight, Melanctha, the way I always see it. Perhaps if you 
run around where you ain't got any business, and you stand up very 
straight and say, I am so brave, nothing can ever hurt me, maybe noth- 
ing will ever hurt you then Melanctha. I never have seen it do so. I 
never can say truly any differently to you Melanctha, but I always am 
ready to be learning from you, Melanctha. And perhaps when somebody 
cuts into you real hard, with a brick he is throwing, perhaps you never 
will do any hollering then, Melanctha. I certainly don't ever say no, 
Melanctha to you, I only say that ain't the way yet I ever see it happen 
when I had a chance to be there looking." 

They sat there together, quiet by the fire, and they did not seem to 
feel very loving. 

"I certainly do wonder," Melanctha said dreamily, at last breaking 
into their long unloving silence. "I certainly do wonder why always it 
happens to me I care for anybody who ain't no ways good enough for 
me ever to be thinking to respect him." 

Jeff looked at Melanctha. Jeff got up then and walked a little up and 
down the room, and then he came back, and his face was set and dark 
and he was very quiet to her. 

"Oh dear, Jeff, sure, why you look so solemn now to me. Sure Jeff I 
never am meaning anything real by what I just been saying. What was 
I just been saying Jeff to you. I only certainly was just thinking how 
everything always was just happening to me." 

Jeff Campbell sat very still and dark, and made no answer. 

"Seems to me, Jeff you might be good to me a little to-night when my 
head hurts so, and I am so tired with all the hard work I have been 
doing, thinking, and I always got so many things to be a trouble to me, 
living like I do with nobody ever who can help me. Seems to me you 
might be good to me Jeff to-night, and not get angry, every little thing 
I am ever saying to you." 

"I certainly would not get angry ever with you, Melanctha, just be- 
cause you say things to me. But now I certainly been thinking you really 


mean what you have been just then saying to me." "But you say all the 
time to me Jeff, you ain't no ways good enough in your loving to me, 
you certainly say to me all the time you ain't no ways good or under- 
standing to me." "That certainly is what I say to you always, just the 
way I feel it to you Melanctha always, and I got it right in me to say it, 
and I have got a right in me to be very strong and feel it, and to be 
always sure to believe it, but it ain't right for you Melanctha to feel it. 

They sat there then a long time by the fire, very silent, and not 
loving, and never looking to each other for it. Melanctha was moving and 
twitching herself and very nervous with it. Jeff was heavy and sullen 
and dark and very serious in it. 

"Oh why can't you forget I said it to you Jeff now, and I certainly 
am so tired, and my head and all now with it." 

Jeff stirred, "All right Melanctha, don't you go make yourself sick now 
in your head, feeling so bad with it," and Jeff made himself do it, and 
he was a patient doctor again now with Melanctha when he felt her 
really having her head hurt with it. "It's all right now Melanctha dar- 
ling, sure it is now I tell you. You just lie down now a little, dear one, 
and I sit here by the fire and just read awhile and just watch with you 
so I will be here ready, if you need me to give you something to help 
you resting." And then Jeff was a good doctor to her, and very sweet 
and tender with her, and Melanctha loved him to be there to help her, 
and then Melanctha fell asleep a little, and Jeff waited there beside her 
until he saw she was really sleeping, and then he went back and sat 
down by the fire. 

And Jeff tried to begin again with his thinking, and he could not 
make it come clear to himself, with all his thinking, and he felt every- 
thing all thick and heavy and bad, now inside him, everything that he 
could not understand right, with all the hard work he made, with his 
thinking. And then he moved himself a little, and took a book to forget 
his thinking, and then as always, he loved it when he was reading, and 
then very soon he was deep in his reading, and so he forgot now for a 
little while that he never could seem to be very understanding. 

And so Jeff forgot himself for awhile in his reading, and Melanctha 
was sleeping. And then Melanctha woke up and she was screaming. 
"Oh, Jeff, I thought you gone away for always from me. Oh, Jeff, never 
now go away no more from me. Oh, Jeff, sure, sure, always be just so 
good to me." 


There was a weight in Jeff Campbell from now on, always with him, 
that he could never lift out from him, to feel easy. He always was trying 
not to have it in him and he always was trying not to let Melanctha feel 
it, with him, but it was always there inside him. Now Jeff Campbell al- 
ways was serious, and dark, and heavy, and sullen, and he would often 
sit a long time with Melanctha without moving. 

"You certainly never have forgiven to me, what I said to you that 
night, Jeff, now have you?" Melanctha asked him after a long silence, 
late one evening with him. "It ain't ever with me a question like forgiv- 
ing, Melanctha, I got in me. It's just only what you are feeling for me, 
makes any difference to me. I ain't ever seen anything since in you, 
makes me think you didn't mean it right, what you said about not 
thinking now any more I was good, to make it right for you to be really 
caring so very much to love me." 

"I certainly never did see no man like you, Jeff. You always wanting 
to have it all clear out in words always, what everybody is always feeling. 
I certainly don't see a reason, why I should always be explaining to you 
what I mean by what I am just saying. And you ain't got no feeling ever 
for me, to ask me what I meant, by what I was saying when I was so 
tired, that night. I never know anything right I was saying." "But you 
don't ever tell me now, Melanctha, so I really hear you say it, you don't 
mean it the same way, the way you said it to me." "Oh Jeff, you so 
stupid always to me and always just bothering with your always asking 
to me. And I don't never any way remember evej* anything I been say- 
ing to you, and I am always my head, so it hurts me it half kills me, 
and my heart jumps so, sometimes I think I die so when it hurts me, and 
I am so blue always, I think sometimes I take something to just kill me, 
and I got so much to bother thinking always and doing, and I got so 
much to worry, and all that, and then you come and ask me what I mean 
by what I was just saying to you. I certainly don't know, Jeff, when you 
ask me. Seems to me, Jeff, sometimes you might have some kind of a 
right feeling to be careful to me." "You ain't got no right Melanctha 
Herbert," flashed out Jeff through his dark, frowning anger, "you cer- 
tainly ain't got no right always to be using your being hurt and being 
sick, and having pain, like a weapon, so as to make me do things it 
ain't never right for me to be doing for you. You certainly ain't got no 
right to be always holding your pain out to show me." "What do you 
mean by them words, Jeff Campbell." "I certainly do mean them just 


like I am saying them, Melanctha. You act always, like I been respon- 
sible all myself for all our loving one another. And if it's anything any- 
way that ever hurts you, you act like as if it was me made you just begin 
it all with me. I ain't no coward, you hear me, Melanctha? I never put 
my trouble back on anybody, thinking that they made me. I certainly 
am right ready always, Melanctha, you certainly had ought to know me, 
to stand all my own trouble for me, but I tell you straight now, the way 
I think it Melanctha, I ain't going to be as if I was the reason why 
you wanted to be loving, and to be suffering so now with me." "But 
ain't you certainly ought to be feeling it so, to be right, Jeff Camp- 
bell. Did I ever do anything but just let you do everything you wanted 
to me. Did I ever try to make you be loving to/ne. Did I ever do noth- 
ing except just sit there ready to endure your loving with me. But I 
certainly never, Jeff Campbell, did make any kind of way as if I wanted 
really to be having you for me." 

Jeff stared at Melanctha. "So that's the way you say it when you are 
thinking right about it all, Melanctha. Well I certainly ain't got a word 
to say ever to you any more, Melanctha, if that's the way it's straight out 
to you now, Melanctha." And Jeff almost laughed out to her, and he 
turned to take his hat and coat, and go away now forever from her. 

Melanctha dropped her head on her arms, and she trembled all over 
and inside her. Jeff stopped a little and looked very sadly at her. Jeff 
could not so quickly make it right for himself, to leave her. 

"Oh, I certainly shall go crazy now, I certainly know that," Melanctha 
moaned as she sat there, all fallen and miserable and weak together. 

Jeff came and took her in his arms, and held her. Jeff was very good 
then to her, but they neither of them felt inside all right, as they once 
did, to be together. 

From now on, Jeff had real torment in him. 

Was it true what Melanctha had said that night to him ? Was it true 
that he was the one had made all this trouble for them? Was it true, he 
was the only one, who always had had wrong ways in him ? Waking or 
sleeping Jeff now always had this torment going on inside him. 

Jeff did not know now any more, what to feel within him. He did not 
know how to begin thinking out this trouble that must always now be 
bad inside him. He just felt a confused struggle and resentment always 
in him, a knowing, no, Melanctha was not right in what she had said 
that night to him, and then a feeling, perhaps he always had been 


wrong in the way he never could be understanding. And then would 
come strong to him, a sense of the deep sweetness in Melanctha's loving 
and a hating the cold slow way he always had to feel things in him. 

Always Jeff knew, sure, Melanctha was wrong in what she had said 
that night to him, but always Melanctha had had deep feeling with 
him, always he was poor and slow in the only way he knew how to have 
any feeling. Jeff knew Melanctha was wrong, and yet he always had 
a deep doubt in him. What could he know, who had such slow feeling 
in him? What could he ever know, who always had to find his way 
with just thinking. What could he know, who had to be taught such a 
long time to learn about what was really loving? Jeff now always had 
this torment in him. 

Melanctha was now always making him feel her way, strong when- 
ever she was with him. Did she go on to do it just to show him, did she 
do it so now because she was no longer loving, did she do it so because 
that was her way to make him be really loving? Jeff never did know 
how it was that it all happened so to him. 

Melanctha acted now the way she had said it always had been with 
them. was always Jeff who had to do the asking. Now it was 
always Jeff who had to ask when would be the next time he should 
come to see her. Now always she was good and patient to him, and now 
always she was kind and loving with him, and always Jeff felt it was, 
that she was good to give him anything he ever asked or wanted, but 
never now any more for her own sake to make her happy in him. Now 
she did these things, as if it was just to please her Jeff Campbell who 
needed she should now have kindness for him. Always now he was the 
beggar, with them. Always now Melanctha gave it, not of her need, but 
from her bounty to him. Always now Jeff found it getting harder for 

Sometimes Jeff wanted to tear things away from before him, always 
now he wanted to fight things and be angry with them, and always now 
Melanctha was so patient to him. 

Now, deep inside him, there was always a doubt with Jeff, of Melanc- 
tha's loving. It was not a doubt yet to make him really doubting, for 
with that, Jeff never could be really loving, but always now he knew 
that something, and that not in him, something was wrong with their 
loving. Jeff Campbell could not know any right way to think out what 
was inside -Melanctha with her loving, he could not use any way now 


to reach inside her to find if she was true in her loving, but now some- 
thing had gone wrong between them, and now he never felt sure in 
him, the way once she had made him, that now at last he really had 
got to be understanding. 

Melanctha was too many for him. He was helpless to find out the wav 
she really felt now for him. Often Jeff would ask her, did she really love 
him. Always she said, "Yes JefT, sure, you know that," and now instead 
of a full sweet strong love with it, Jeff only felt a patient, kind endur- 
ance in it. 

Jeff did not know. If he was right in such a feeling, he certainly never 
any more did want to have Melanctha Herbert with him. JefT Campbell 
hated badly to think Melanctha ever would giye him love, just for his 
sake, and not because she needed it herself, to be with him. Such a way 
of loving would be very hard for Jeff to be enduring. 

"Jeff what makes you act so funny to me. Jeff you certainly now are 
jealous to me. Sure Jeff, now I don't see ever why you be so foolish to 
look so to me." "Don't you ever think I can be jealous of anybody ever 
Melanctha, you hear me. It's just, you certainly don't ever understand 
me. It's just this way with me always now Melanctha. You love me, and 
I don't care anything what you do or what you ever been to anybody. 
You don't love me, then I don't care any more about what you ever do 
or what you ever be to anybody. But I never want you to be being good 
Melanctha to me, when it ain't your loving makes you need it. I cer- 
tainly don't ever want to be having any of your kind of kindness to 
me. If you don't love me, I can stand it. All I never want to have is your 
being good to me from kindness. If you don't love me, then you and I 
certainly do quit right here Melanctha, all strong feeling, to be always 
living to each other. It certainly never is anybody I ever am thinking 
about when I am thinking with you Melanctha darling. That's the true 
way I am telling you Melanctha, always. It's only your loving me ever 
gives me anything to bother me Melanctha, so all you got to do, if you 
don't really love me, is just certainly to say so to me. I won't bother you 
more then than I can help to keep from it Melanctha. You certainly 
need never to be in any worry, never, about me Melanctha. You just 
tell me straight out Melanctha, real, the way you feel it. I certainly can 
stand it all right, I tell you true Melanctha. And I never will care to 
know why or nothing Melanctha. Loving is just living Melanctha to 
me, and if you don't really feel it now Melanctha to me, there ain't ever 


nothing between us then Melanctha, is there? That's straight and honest 
just the way I always feel it to you now Melanctha. Oh Melanctha, dar- 
ling, do you love me ? Oh Melanctha, please, please, tell me honest, tell 
me, do you really love me?" 

"Oh you so stupid Jeff boy of course I always love you. Always and 
always Jeff and I always just so good to you. Oh you so stupid Jeff and 
don't know when you got it good with me. Oh dear, Jeff I certainly am 
so tired Jeff to-night, don't you go be a bother to me. Yes I love you 
Jeff, how often you want me to tell you. Oh you so stupid Jeff, but yes I 
love you. Now I won't say it no more now to-night Jeff, you hear me. 
You just be good Jeff now to me or else I certainly get awful angry with 
you. Yes I love you, sure, Jeff, though you don't any way deserve it from 
me. Yes, yes I love you. Yes Jeff I say it till I certainly am very sleepy. 
Yes I love you now Jeff, and you certainly must stop asking me to tell 
you. Oh you great silly boy Jeff Campbell, sure I love you, oh you silly 
stupid, my own boy Jeff Campbell. Yes I love you and I certainly never 
won't say it one more time to-night Jeff, now you hear me." 

Yes Jeff Campbell heard her, and he tried hard to believe her. He did 
not really doubt her but somehow it was wrong now, the way Melanc- 
tha said it. Jeff always now felt baffled with Melanctha. Something, he 
knew, was not right now in her. Something in her always now was 
making stronger the torment that was tearing every minute at the joy 
he once always had had with her. 

Always now Jeff wondered did Melanctha love him. Always now he 
was wondering, was Melanctha right when she said, it was he had made 
all their beginning. Was Melanctha right when she said, it was he had 
the real responsibility for all the trouble they had and still were having 
now between them. If she was right, what a brute he always had been 
in his acting. If she was right, how good she had been to endure the 
pain he had made so bad so often for her. But no, surely she had made 
herself to bear it, for her own sake, not for his to make him happy. Surely 
he was not so twisted in all his long thinking. Surely he could remember 
right what it was had happened every day in their long loving. Surely 
he was not so poor a coward as Melanctha always seemed to be thinking. 
Surely, surely, and then the torment would get worse every minute in 

One night Jeff Campbell was lying in his bed with his thinking, and 
night after night now he could not do any sleeping for his thinking. 


To-night suddenly he sat up in his bed, and it all came clear to him, 
and he pounded his pillow with his fist, and he almost shouted out alone 
there to him, "I ain't a brute the way Melanctha has been saying. It's all 
wrong the way I been worried thinking. We did begin fair, each not for 
the other but for ourselves, what we were wanting. Melanctha Herbert 
did it just like I did it, because she liked it bad enough to want to stand 
it. It's all wrong in me to think it any way except the way we really did 
it. I certainly don't know now whether she is now real and true in her 
loving. I ain't got any way ever to find out if she is real and true now 
always to me. All I know is I didn't ever make her to begin to be with 
me. Melanctha has got to stand for her own trouble, just like I got to 
stand for my own trouble. Each man has got to do it for himself when 
he is in real trouble. Melanctha, she certainly don't remember right 
when she says I made her begin and then I made her trouble. No by 
God, I ain't no coward nor a brute either ever to her. I been the way I 
felt it honest, and that certainly is all about it now between us, and 
everybody always has just got to stand for their own trouble. I cer- 
tainly am right this time the way I see it." And Jeff lay down now, at 
last in comfort, and he slept, and he was free from his long doubting 

"You know Melanctha," Jeff Campbell began, the next time he was 
alone to talk a long time to Melanctha. "You know Melanctha, some- 
times I think a whole lot about what you like to say so much about being 
game and never doing any hollering. Seems to me Melanctha, I certainly 
don't understand right what you mean by not hollering. Seems to me it 
certainly ain't only what comes right away when one is hit, that counts 
to be brave to be bearing, but all that comes later from your getting sick 
from the shock of being hurt once in a fight, and all that, and all the 
being taken care of for years after, and the suffering of your family, and 
all that, you certainly must stand and not holler, to be certainly really 
brave the way I understand it." "What you mean Jeff by your talking." 
"I mean, seems to me really not to holler, is to be strong not to show 
you ever have been hurt. Seems to me, to get your head hurt from your 
trouble and to show it, ain't certainly no braver than to say, oh, oh, how 
bad you hurt me, please don't hurt me mister. It just certainly seems to 
me, like many people think themselves so game just to stand what we 
all of us always just got to be standing, and everybody stands it, and 


we don't certainly none of us like it, and yet we don't ever most of 
us think we are so much being game, just because we got to stand it." 
"I know what you mean now by what you are saying to me now Jeff 
Campbell. You make a fuss now to me, because I certainly just have 
stopped standing everything you like to be always doing so cruel to me. 
But that's just the way always with you Jeff Campbell, if you want to 
know it. You ain't got no kind of right feeling for all I always been 
forgiving to you." "I said it once for fun, Melanctha, but now I certainly 
do mean it, you think you got a right to go where you got no business, 
and you say, I am so brave nothing can hurt me, and then something, 
like always, it happens to hurt you, and you show your hurt always so 
everybody can see it, and you say, I am so brave nothing did hurt me 
except he certainly didn't have any right to, and see how bad I suffer, 
but you never hear me make a holler, though certainly anybody got any 
feeling, to see me suffer, would certainly never touch me except to take 
good care of me. Sometimes I certainly don't rightly see Melanctha, how 
much more game that is than just the ordinary kind of holler." "No, 
Jeff Campbell, and made the way you is you certainly ain't likely ever 
to be much more understanding." "No, Melanctha, nor you neither. You 
think always, you are the only one who ever can do any way to really 
suffer." "Well, and ain't I certainly always been the only person knows 
how to bear it. No, Jeff Campbell, I certainly be glad to love anybody 
really worthy, but I made so, I never seem to be able in this world to 
find him." "No, and your kind of way of thinking, you certainly Me- 
lanctha never going to any way be able ever to be finding of him. Can't 
you understand Melanctha, ever, how no man certainly ever really can 
hold your love for long times together. You certainly Melanctha, you 
aint' got down deep loyal feeling, true inside you, and when you ain't 
just that moment quick with feeling, then you certainly ain't ever got 
anything more there to keep you. You see Melanctha, it certainly is this 
way with you, it is, that you ain't ever got any way to remember right 
what you been doing, or anybody else that has been feeling with you. 
You certainly Melanctha, never can remember right, when it comes what 
you have done and what you think happens to you." "It certainly is all 
easy for you Jeff Campbell to be talking. You remember right, because 
you don't remember nothing till you get home with your thinking every- 
thing all over, but I certainly don't think much ever of that kind of 


way of remembering right, Jeff Campbell. I certainly do call it remem- 
bering right Jeff Campbell, to remember right just when it happens to 
you, so you have a right kind of feeling not to act the way you always 
been 4oing to me, and then youngo home Jeff Campbell, and you begin 
with your thinking, and then it certainly is very easy for you to be good 
and forgiving with it. No, that ain't to me, the way of remembering Jeff 
Campbell, not as I can see it not to make people always suffer, waiting 
for you certainly to get to do it. Seems to me like Jeff Campbell, I never 
could feel so like a man was low and to be scorning of him, like that 
day in the summer, when you threw me off just because you got one 
of those fits of your remembering. No, Jeff Campbell, it's real feeling 
every moment when it's needed, that certainly does seerri to me like real 
remembering. And that way, certainly, you don't never know nothing 
like what should be right Jeff Campbell. No Jeff, it's me that always 
certainly has had to bear it with you. It's always me that certainly has 
had to suffer, while you go home to remember. No you certainly ain't 
got no sense yet Jeff, what you need to make you really feeling. No, it 
certainly is me Jeff Campbell, that always has got to be remembering 
for us both, always. That's what's the true way with us Jeff Campbell, 
if you want to know what it is I am always thinking." "You is certainly 
real modest Melanctha, when you do this kind of talking, you sure is 
Melanctha," said Jeff Campbell laughing. "I think sometimes Melanc- 
tha I am certainly awful conceited, when I think sometimes I am all 
out doors, and I think I certainly am so bright, and better than most 
everybody I ever got anything now to do with, but when I hear you 
talk this way Melanctha, I certainly do think I am a real modest kind 
of fellow." "Modest!" said Melanctha, angry, "Modest, that certainly is 
a queer thing for you Jeff to be calling yourself even when you are 
laughing." "Well it certainly does depend a whole lot what you are 
thinking with," said Jeff Campbell. "I never did use to think I was so 
much on being real modest Melanctha, but now I know really I am, 
when I hear you talking. I see all the time there are many people 
living just as good as I am, though they are a little different to me. 
Now with you Melanctha if I understand you right what you are 
talking, you don't think that way of no other one that you are ever 
knowing." "I certainly could be real modest too, Jeff Campbell," said 
Melanctha, "If I could meet somebody once I could keep right on re- 
specting when I got so I was really knowing with them. But I certainly 


never met anybody like that yet, Jeff Campbell, if you want to know it." 
"No, Melanctha, and with the way you got of thinking, it certainly don't 
look like as if you ever will Melanctha, with your never remembering 
anything only what you just then are feeling in you, and you not under- 
standing what any one else is ever feeling, if they don't holler just the 
way you are doing. No Melanctha, I certainly don't see any ways you 
are likely ever to meet one, so good as you are always thinking you be." 
"No, Jeff Campbell, it certainly ain't that way with me at all the way 
you say it. It's because I am always knowing what it is I am wanting, 
when I get it. I certainly don't never have to wait till I have it, and then 
throw away what I got in me, and then come back and say, that's a 
mistake I just been making, it ain't that never at all like I understood it, 
I want to have, bad, what I didn't think it was I wanted. It's that way 
of knowing right what I am wanting, makes me feel nobody can come 
right with me, when I am feeling things, Jeff Campbell. I certainly do 
say Jeff Campbell, I certainly don't think much of the way you always 
do it, always never knowing what it is you are ever really wanting and 
everybody always got to suffer. No Jeff, I don't certainly think there is 
much doubting which is better and the stronger with us two, Jeff Camp- 

"As you will, Melanctha Herbert," cried Jeff Campbell, and he rose 
up, and he thundered out a black oath, and he was fierce to leave her 
now forever, and then with the same movement, he took her in his arms 
and held her. 

"What a silly goose boy you are, Jeff Campbell," Melanctha whispered 
to him fondly. 

"Oh yes," said Jeff, very dreary. "I never could keep really mad with 
anybody, not when I was a little boy and playing. I used most to cry 
sometimes, I couldn't get real mad and keep on a long time with it, the 
way everybody always did it. It's certainly no use to me Melanctha, I 
certainly can't ever keep mad with you Melanctha, my dear one. But 
don't you ever be thinking it's because I think you right in what you 
been just saying to me. I don't Melanctha really think it that way, 
honest, though I certainly can't get mad the way I ought to. No Melanc- 
tha, little girl, really truly, you ain't right the way you think it. I cer- 
tainly do know that Melanctha, honest. You certainly don't do me right 
Melanctha, the way you say you are thinking. Good-bye Melanctha, 
though you certainly is my own little girl for always." And then they 


were very good a little to each other, and then Jeff went away for that 
evening, from her. 

Melanctha had begun now once more to wander. Melanctha did not 
yet always wander, but a little now she needed to begin to look for 
others. Now Melanctha Herbert began again to be with some of the 
better kind of black girls, and with them she sometimes wandered. Me- 
lanctha had not yet come again to need to be alone, when she wandered. 

Jeff Campbell did not know that Melanctha had begun again to wan- 
der. All Jeff knew, was that now he could not be so often with her. 

Jeff never knew how it had come to happen to him, but now he never 
thought to go to see Melanctha Herbert, until he had before, asked her 
if she could be going to have time then to have him with her. Then 
Melanctha would think a little, and then she would say to him, "Let me 
see Jeff, to-morrow, you was just saying to me. I certainly am awful 
busy you know Jeff just now. It certainly does seem to me this week 
Jeff, I can't anyways fix it. Sure I want to see you soon Jeff. I certainly 
Jeff got to do a little more now, I been giving so much time, when I 
had no business, just to be with you when you asked me. Now I guess 
Jeff, I certainly can't see you no more this week Jeff, the way I got to 
do things." "All right Melanctha/' Jeff would answer and he would be 
very angry. "I want to come only just certainly as you want me now 
Melanctha." "Now Jeff you know I certainly can't be neglecting always 
to be with everybody just to see you. You come see me next week Tues- 
day Jeff, you hear me. I don't think Jeff I certainly be so busy, Tuesday." 
Jeff Campbell would then go away and leave her, and he would be hurt 
and very angry, for it was hard for a man with a great pride in himself, 
like Jeff Campbell, to feel himself no better than a beggar. And yet he 
always came as she said he should, on the day she had fixed for him, 
and always Jeff Campbell was not sure yet that he really understood 
what it was Melanctha wanted. Always Melanctha said to him, yes she 
loved him, sure he knew that. Always Melanctha said to him, she cer- 
tainly did love him just the same as always, only sure he knew now she 
certainly did seem to be right busy with all she certainly now had to be 

Jeff never knew what Melanctha had to do now, that made her always 
be so busy, but Jeff Campbell never cared to ask Melanctha such a ques- 
tion. Besides Jeff knew Melanctha Herbert would never, in such a mat- 
ter, give him any kind of a real answer. Jeff did not know whether it 


was that Melanctha did not know how to give a simple answer. And 
then how could he, Jeff, know what was important to her. Jeff Camp- 
bell always felt strongly in him, he had no right to interfere with Me- 
lanctha in any practical kind of a matter. There they had always, never 
asked each other any kind of question. There they had felt always in 
each other, not any right to take care of one another. And Jeff Campbell 
now felt less than he had ever, any right to claim to know what Melanc- 
tha thought it right that she should do in any of her ways of living. All 
Jeff felt a right in himself to question, was her loving. 

Jeff learned every day now, more and more, how much it was that 
he could really suffer. Sometimes it hurt so in him, when he was alone, 
it would force some slow tears from him. But every day, now that Jeff 
Campbell, knew more how it could hurt him, he lost his feeling of deep 
awe that he once always had had for Melanctha's feeling. Suffering was 
not so much after all, thought Jeff Campbell, if even he could feel it so 
it hurt him. It hurt him bad, just the way he knew he once had hurt 
Melanctha, and yet he too could have it and not make any kind of a 
loud holler with it. 

In tender-hearted natures, those that mostly never feel strong passion, 
suffering often comes to make them harder. When these do not know 
in themselves what it is to suffer, suffering is then very awful to them 
and they badly want to help everyone who ever has to suffer, and they 
have a deep reverence for anybody who knows really how to always 
suffer. But when it comes to them to really suffer, they soon begin to 
lose their fear and tenderness and wonder. Why it isn't so very much to 
suffer, when even I can bear to do it. It isn't very pleasant to be having 
all the time, to stand it, but they are not so much wiser after all, all the 
others just because they know too how to bear it. 

Passionate natures who have always made themsejves, to suffer, that 
is all the kind of people who have emotions that come to them as sharp 
as a sensation, they always get more tender-hearted when they suffer, 
and it always does them good to suffer. Tender-hearted, unpassionate, 
and comfortable natures always get much harder when they suffer, for 
so they lose the fear and reverence and wonder they once had for 
everybody who ever has to suffer, but now they know themselves what 
it is to suffer and it is not so awful any longer to them when they know 
too, just as well as all the others, how to have it. 

And so it came in these days to Jeff Campbell. Jeff knew now always,. 


way inside him, what it is to really suffer, and now every day with 
it, he knew how to understand Melanctha better. Jeff Campbell still 
loved Melanctha Herbert dnd he still had a real trust in her and he still 
had a little hope that some day they would once more get together, 
but slowly, every day, this hope in him would keep growing always 
weaker. They still were a good deal of time together, but now they 
never any more were really trusting with each other. In the days when 
they used to be together, Jeff had felt he did not know much what was 
inside Melanctha, but he knew very well, how very deep always was 
his trust in her; now he knew Melanctha Herbert better, but now he 
never felt a deep trust in her. Now Jeff never could be really honest with 
her. He never doubted yet, that she was steady only to him, but some- 
how he could not believe much really in Melanctha's loving. 

Melanctha Herbert was a little angry now when Jeff asked her, "I 
never give nobody before Jeff, ever more than one chance with me, and 
I certainly been giving you most a hundred Jeff, you hear me." "And 
why shouldn't you Melanctha, give me a million, if you really love me!" 
Jeff flashed out very angry. "I certainly don't know as you deserve that 
anyways from me, Jeff Campbell." "It ain't deserving, I am ever talking 
about to you Melanctha. It's loving, and if you are really loving to me 
you won't certainly never any ways call them chances." "Deed Jeff, you 
certainly are getting awful wise Jeff now, ain't you, to me." "No I ain't 
Melanctha, and I ain't jealous either to you. I just am doubting from 
the way you are .always acting to me." "Oh yes Jeff, that's what they 
all say, the same way, when they certainly got jealousy all through them. 
You ain't got no cause to be jealous with me Jeff, and I am awful tired 
of all this talking now, you hear me." 

Jeff Campbell never asked Melanctha any more if she loved him. Now 
things were always getting worse between them. Now Jeff was always 
very silent with Melanctha. Now Jeff never wanted to be honest to her, 
and now Jeff never had much to say to her. 

Now when they were together, it was Melanctha always did most of 
the talking. Now she often had other girls there with her. Melanctha 
was always kind to Jeff Campbell but she never seemed to need to be 
alone now with him. She always treated Jeff, like her best friend, and 
she always spoke so to him and yet she never seemed now to very often 
want to see him. 

Every day it was getting harder for Jeff Campbell. It was as if now, 


when he had learned to really love Melanctha, she did not need any 
more to have him. Jeff began to know this very well inside him. 

Jeff Campbell did not know yet that Melanctha had begun again to 
wander. Jeff was not very quick to suspect Melanctha. All Jeff knew 
was, that he did not trust her to be now really loving to him. 

Jeff was no longer now in any doubt inside him. He knew very well 
now he really loved Melanctha. He knew now very well she was not any 
more a real religion to him. Jeff Campbell knew very well too now in- 
side him, he did not really want Melanctha, now if he could no longer 
trust her, though he loved her hard and really knew now what it was 
to suffer. 

Every day Melanctha Herbert was less and less near to him. She al- 
ways was very pleasant in her talk and to be with him, but somehow 
now it never was any comfort to him. 

Melanctha Herbert now always had a lot of friends around her. Jeff 
Campbell never wanted to be with them. Now Melanctha began to find 
it, she said it often to him, always harder to arrange to be alone now 
with him. Sometimes she would be late for him. Then Jeff always would 
try to be patient in his waiting, for Jeff Campbell knew very well how 
to remember, and he knew it was only right that he should now endure 
this from her. 

Then Melanctha began to manage often not to see him, and once she 
went away when she had promised to be there to meet him. 

Then Jeff Campbell was really filled up with his anger. Now he knew 
he could never really want her. Now he knew he never any more could 
really trust her. 

Jeff Campbell never knew why Melanctha had not come to meet him. 
Jeff had heard a little talking now, about how Melanctha Herbert had 
commenced once more to wander. Jeff Campbell still sometimes saw 
Jane Harden, who always needed a doctor to be often there to help her. 
Jane Harden always knew very well what happened to Melanctha. Jeff 
Campbell never would talk to Jane Harden anything about Melanctha. 
Jeff was always loyal to Melanctha. Jeff never let Jane Harden say much 
to him about Melanctha, though he never let her know that now he 
loved her. But somehow Jeff did know now about Melanctha, and he 
knew about some men that Melanctha met with Rose Johnson very 

Jeff Campbell would not let himself really doubt Melanctha, but Jeff 



began to know now very well, he did not want her. Melanctha Herbert 
did not love him ever, Jeff knew it now, the way he once had thought 
that she could feel it. Once she had been greater for him than he had 
thought he could ever know how to feel it. Now Jeff had come to where 
he could understand Melanctha Herbert. Jeff was not bitter to her be- 
cause she could not really love him, he was bitter only that he had let 
himself have a real illusion in him. He was a little bitter too, that he 
had lost now, what he had always felt real in the world, that had made 
it for him always full of beauty, and now he had not got this new religion 
really, and he had lost what he before had to know what was good 
and had real beauty. 

Jeff Campbell was so angry now in him, because. he had begged Me- 
lanctha always to be honest to him. Jeff could stand it in her not to love 
him, he could not stand it in her not to be honest to him. 

Jeff Campbell went home from where Melanctha had not met. him, 
and he was sore and full of anger in him. 

Jeff Campbell could not be sure what to do, to make it right inside 
him. Surely he must be strong now and cast this loving from him, and 
yet, was he sure he now had real wisdom in him. Was he sure that Me- 
lanctha Herbert never had had a real deep loving for him. Was he sure 
Melanctha Herbert never had deserved a reverence from him. Always 
now Jeff had this torment in him, but always now he felt more that 
Melanctha never had real greatness for him. 

Jeff waited to see if Melanctha would send any word to him. Melanc- 
tha Herbert never sent a line to him. 

At last Jeff wrote his letter to Melanctha. "Dear Melanctha, I certainly 
do know you ain't been any way sick this last week when you never met 
me right the way you promised, and never sent me any word to say why 
you acted a way you certainly never could think was the right way 
you should do it to me. Jane Harden said she saw you that day and you 
went out walking with some people you like now to be with. Don't be 
misunderstanding me now any more Melanctha. I love you now because 
that's my slow way to learn what you been teaching, but I know now 
you certainly never had what seems to me real kind of feeling. I don't 
love you Melanctha any more now like a real religion, because now I 
know you are just made like all us others. I know man can ever 
really hold you because no man can ever be real to trust in you, because 
you mean right Melanctha, but you never can remember, and so you 


certainly never have got any way to be honest. So please you understand 
me right now Melanctha, it never is I don't know how to love you. I do 
know now how to love you, Melanctha, really. You sure do know that, 
Melanctha, in me. You certainly always can trust me. And so now Me- 
lanctha, I can say to you certainly real honest with you, I am better than 
you are in my right kind of feeling. And so Melanctha, I don't never any 
more want to be a trouble to you. You certainly make me see things 
Melanctha, I never any other way could be knowing. You been very 
good and patient to me, when I was certainly below you in my right 
feeling. I certainly never have been near so good and patient to you ever 
any way Melanctha, I certainly know that Melanctha. But Melanctha, 
with me, it certainly is, always to be good together, two people certainly 
must be thinking each one as good as the other, to be really loving right 
Melanctha. And it certainly must never be any kind of feeling, of one 
only taking, and one only just giving, Melanctha, to me. I know you 
certainly don't really ever understand me now Melanctha, but that's no 
matter. I certainly do know what I am feeling now with you real Me- 
lanctha. And so good-bye now for good Melanctha. I say I can never 
ever really trust you real Melanctha, that's only just certainly from your 
way of not being ever equal in your feeling to anybody real, Melanctha, 
and your way never to know right how to remember. Many ways I really 
trust you deep Melanctha, and I certainly do feel deep all the good 
sweetness you certainly got real in you Melanctha. It's only just in your 
loving me Melanctha. You never can be equal to me and that way I cer- 
tainly never can bear any more to have it. And so now Melanctha, I 
always be your friend, if you need me, and now we never see each other 
any more to talk to." 

And then Jeff Campbell thought and thought, and he could never 
make any way for him now, to see it different, and so at last he sent this 
letter to Melanctha. 

And now surely it was all over in Jeff Campbell. Surely now he never 
any more could know Melanctha. And yet, perhaps Melanctha really 
loved him. And then she would know how much it hurt him never any 
more, any way, to see her, and perhaps she would write a line to tell him. 
But that was a foolish way for Jeff ever to be thinking. Of course Melanc- 
tha never would write a word to him. It was all over now for always, 
everything between them, and Jeff felt it a real relief to him. 

For many days now Jeff Campbell only felt it as a relief in him. Jeff 


was all locked up and quiet now inside him. It was all settling down 
heavy in him, and these days when it was sinking so deep in him, it 
was only the rest and quiet of not fighting that he could really foel inside 
him. Jeff Campbell could not think now, or feel anything else in him. 
He had no beauty nor any goodness to see around him. It was a dull, 
pleasant kind of quiet he now had inside him. Jeff almost began to love 
this dull quiet in him, for it was more nearly being free for him than 
anything he had known in him since Melanctha Herbert first had 
moved him. He did not find it a real rest yet for him, he had not really 
conquered what had been working so long in him, he had not learned 
to see beauty and real goodness yet in what had happened to him, but 
it was rest even if he was sodden now all through Jiim. Jeff Campbell 
liked it very well, not to have fighting always going on inside him. 

And so Jeff went on every day, and he was quiet, and he began again 
to watch himself in his working; and he did not see any beauty now 
around him, and it was dull and heavy always now inside him, and yet 
he was content to have gone so far in keeping steady to what he knew 
was the right way for him to come back to, to be regular, and see beauty 
in every kind of quiet way of living, the way he had always wanted it 
for himself and for all the colored people. He knew he had lost the sense 
he once had of joy all through him, but he could work, and perhaps he 
would bring some real belief back into him about the beauty that he 
could not now any more see around him. 

And so JefT Campbell went on with his working, and he staid home 
every evening, and he began again with his reading, and he did not do 
much talking, and he did not seem to himself to have any kind of 

And one day Jeff thought perhaps he really was forgetting, one day 
he thought he could soon come back and be happy in his old way of 
regular and quiet living. 

Jeff Campbell had never talked to any one of what had been going 
on inside him. Jeff Campbell liked to talk and he was honest, but it 
never came out from him, anything he was ever really feeling, it only 
came out from him, what it was that he was always thinking. Jeff Camp- 
bell always was very proud to hide what he was really feeling. Always 
he blushed hot to think things he had been feeling. Only to Melanctha 
Herbert, had it ever come to him, to tell what it was that he was feeling. 

And so Jeff Campbell went on with this dull and sodden, heavy, quiet 


always in him, and he never seemed to be able to have any feeling. Only 
sometimes he shivered hot with shame when he remembered some 
things he once had been feeling. And then one day it all woke up, and 
was sharp in him. 

Dr. Campbell was just then staying long times with a sick man who 
might soon be dying. One day the sick man was resting. Dr. Campbell 
went to the window to look out a little, while he was waiting. It was 
very early now in the southern spring time. The trees were just begin- 
ning to get the little zigzag crinkles in them, which the young buds 
always give them. The air was soft and moist and pleasant to them. The 
earth was wet and rich and smelling for them. The birds were making 
sharp fresh noises all around them. The wind was very gentle and yet 
urgent to them. And the buds and the long earthworms, and the negroes, 
and all the kinds of children, were coming out every minute farther into 
the new spring, watery, southern sunshine. 

Jeff Campbell too began to feel a little his old joy inside him. The 
sodden quiet began to break up in him. He leaned far out of the window 
to mix it all up with him. His heart went sharp and then it almost 
stopped inside him. Was it Melanctha Herbert he had just seen passing 
by him? Was it Melanctha, or was it just some other girl, who made 
him feel so bad inside him ? Well, it was no matter, Melanctha was there 
in the world around him, he did certainly always know that in him. 
Melanctha Herbert was always in the same town with him, and he 
could never any more feel her near him. What a fool he was to throw 
her from him. Did he know she did not really love him. Suppose Melanc- 
tha was now suffering through him. Suppose she really would be glad 
to see him. And did anything else he did, really mean anything now to 
him ? What a fool he was to cast her from him. And yet did Melanctha 
Herbert want him, was she honest to him, had Melanctha ever loved 
him, and did Melanctha now suffer by him? Oh! Oh! Oh! and the bitter 
water once more rose up in him. 

All that long day, with the warm moist young spring stirring in him, 
Jeff Campbell worked, and thought, and beat his breast, and wandered, 
and spoke aloud, and was silent, and was certain, and then in doubt 
and then keen to surely feel, and then all sodden in him; and he walked, 
and he sometimes ran fast to lose himself in his rushing, and he bit his 
nails to pain and bleeding, and he tore his hair so that he could be sure 
he was really feeling, and he never could know what it was right, he 


now should be doing. And then late that night he wrote it all out to 
Melanctha Herbert, and he made himself quickly send it without giving 
himself any time to change it. 

, "It has come to me strong to-day Melanctha, perhaps I am wrong the 
way I now am thinking. Perhaps you do want me badly to be with you. 
Perhaps I have hurt you once again the way I used to. I certainly Me- 
lanctha, if I ever think that really, I certainly do want bad not to be 
wrong now ever any more to you. If you do feel the way to-day it came 
to me strong may-be you are feeling, then say so Melanctha to me, and 
I come again to see you. If not, don't say anything any more ever to me. 
I don't want ever to be bad to you Melanctha, really. I never want ever 
to be a bother to you. I never can stand it to think I am wrong; really, 
thinking you don't want me to come to you. Tell me Melanctha, tell 
me honest to me, shall I come now any more to see you." "Yes" came 
the answer from Melanctha, "I be home Jeff to-night to see you." 

Jeff Campbell went that evening late to see Melanctha Herbert. As 
Jeff came nearer to her, he doubted that he wanted really to be with 
her, he felt that he did not know what it was he now wanted from her. 
Jeff Campbell knew very well now, way inside him, that they could 
never talk their trouble out between them. What was it Jeff wanted now 
to tell Melanctha Herbert? What was it that Jeff Campbell now could 
tell her? Surely he never now could learn to trust her. Surely Jeff knew 
very well all that Melanctha always had inside her. And yet it was 
awful, never any more to see her. 

Jeff Campbell went in to Melanctha, and he kissed her, and he held 
her, and then he went away from her and he stood still and looked at 
her. "Well Jeff!" "Yes Melanctha!" "Jeff what was it made you act so 
to me?" "You know very well Melanctha, it's always I am thinking you 
don't love me, and you are acting to me good out of kindness, and then 
Melanctha you certainly never did say anything to me why you never 
came to meet me, as you certainly did promise to me you would that day 
I never saw you!" "Jeff don't you really know for certain, I always love 
you?" "No Melanctha, deed I don't know it in me. Deed and certain 
sure Melanctha, if I only know that in me, I certainly never would give 
you any bother." "Jeff, I certainly do love you more seems to me always, 
you certainly had ought to feel that in you." "Sure Melanctha?" "Sure 
Jeff boy, you know that." "But then Melanctha why did you act so to 
me?" "Oh Jeff you certainly been such a bother to me. I just had to go 


away that day Jeff, and I certainly didn't mean not to tell you, and then 
that letter you wrote came to me and something happened to me. I don't 
know right what it was Jeff, I just kind of fainted, and what could I do 
Jeff, you said you certainly never any more wanted to come and see me!" 
"And no matter Melanctha, even if you knew, it was just killing me to 
act so to you, you never would have said nothing to me? 55 "No of course, 
how could I Jeff when you wrote that way to me. I know how you was 
feeling Jeff to me, but I certainly couldn't say nothing to you." "Well 
Melanctha, I certainly know I am right proud too in me, but I certainly 
never could act so to you Melanctha, if I ever knew any way at all you 
ever really loved me. No Melanctha darling, you and me certainly don't 
feel much the same way ever. Any way Melanctha, I certainly do love 
you true Melanctha." "And I love you too Jeff, even though you don't 
never certainly seem to believe me." "No I certainly don't any way be- 
lieve you, Melanctha, even when you say it to me. I don't know Melanc- 
tha how, but sure I certainly do trust you, only I don't believe now ever 
in your really being loving to me. I certainly do know you trust me 
always Melanctha, only somehow it ain't ever all right to me. I certainly 
don't know any way otherwise Melanctha, how I can say it to you." 
"Well I certainly can't help you no ways any more Jeff Campbell, 
though you certainly say it right when you say I trust you Jeff now al- 
ways. You certainly is the best man Jeff Campbell, I ever can know, to 
me. I never been anyways thinking it can be ever different to me." "Well 
you trust me then Melanctha, and I certainly love you Melanctha, and 
seems like to me Melanctha, you and me had ought to be a little better 
than we certainly ever are doing now to be together. You certainly do 
think that way, too, Melanctha to me. But may be you do really love me. 
Tell me, please, real honest now Melanctha darling, tell me so I really 
always know it in me, do you really truly love me?" "Oh you stupid, 
stupid boy, Jeff Campbell. Love you, what do you think makes me al- 
ways to forgive you. If I certainly didn't always love you Jeff, I certainly 
never would let you be always being all the time such a bother to me 
the way you certainly Jeff always are to me. Now don't you dass ever 
any more say words like that ever to me. You hear me now Jeff, or I do 
something real bad sometime, so I really hurt you. Now Jeff you just 
be good to me. You know Jeff how bad I need it, now you should always 
be good to me!" 
Jeff Campbell could not make an answer to Melanctha. What was it 


he should now say to her? What words could help him to make their 
feeling any better? Jeff Campbell knew that he had learned to love 
deeply, that, he always knew very well now in him, Melanctha had 
learned to be strong to be always trusting, that he knew too now inside 
him, but Melanctha did not really love him, that he felt always too 
strong for him. That fact always was there in him, and it always thrust 
itself firm, between them. And so this talk did not make things really 
better for them. 

Jeff Campbell was never any more a torment to Melanctha, he was 
only silent to her. Jeff often saw Melanctha and he was very friendly 
with her and he never any more was a brother to her. Jeff never any 
more now had much chance to be loving with her. Melanctha never was 
alone now when he saw her. 

Melanctha Herbert had just been getting thi,ck in her trouble with 
Jeff Campbell, when she went to that church where she first met Rose, 
who later was married regularly to Sam Johnson. Rose was a good- 
looking, better kind of black girl, and had been brought up quite like 
their own child by white folks. Rose was living now with colored people. 
Rose was staying just then with a colored woman, who had known 'Mis' 
Herbert and her black husband and this girl Melanctha. 

Rose soon got to like Melanctha Herbert and Melanctha now always 
wanted to be with Rose, whenever she could do it. Melanctha Herbert 
always was doing everything for Rose that she could think of that Rose 
ever wanted. Rose always liked to be with nice people who would do 
things for her. Rose had strong common sense and she was lazy. Rose 
liked Melanctha Herbert, she had such kind of fine ways in her. Then, 
too, Rose had it in her to be sorry for the subtle, sweet-natured, docile, 
intelligent Melanctha Herbert who always was so blue sometimes, and 
always had had so much trouble. Then, too, Rose could scold Melanc- 
tha, for Melanctha Herbert never could know how to keep herself from 
trouble, and Rose was always strong to keep straight, with her simple 
selfish wisdom. 

But why did the subtle, intelligent, attractive, half white girl Melanc- 
tha Herbert, with her sweetness and her power and her wisdom, demean 
herself to do for and to flatter and to be scolded, by this lazy, stupid, 
ordinary, selfish black girl. This was a queer thing in Melanctha Herbert. 

And so now in these new spring days, it was with Rose that Melanc- 


tha began again to wander. Rose always knew very well in herself what 
was the right way to do when you wandered. Rose knew very well, she 
was not just any common kind of black girl, for she had been raised 
by white folks, and Rose always saw to it that she was engaged to him 
when she had any one man with whom she ever always wandered. Rose 
always had strong in her the sense for proper conduct. Rose always was 
telling the complex and less sure Melanctha, what was the right way 
she should do when she wandered. 

Rose never knew much about Jeff Campbell with Melanctha Herbert. 
Rose had not known about Melanctha Herbert when she had been al- 
most all her time with Dr. Campbell. 

Jeff Campbell did not like Rose when he saw her with Melanctha. 
Jeff would never, when he could help it, meet her. Rose did not think 
much about Dr. Campbell. Melanctha never talked much about him 
to her. He was not important now to be with her. 

Rose did not like Melanctha's old friend Jane Harden when she saw 
her. Jane despised Rose for an ordinary, stupid, sullen black girl. Jane 
could not see what Melanctha could find in that black girl, to endure 
her. It made Jane sick to see her. But then Melanctha had a good mind, 
but she certainly never did care much to really use it. Jane Harden now 
really never cared any more to see Melanctha, though Melanctha still 
always tried to be good to her. And Rose, she hated that stuck up, mean 
speaking, nasty, drunk thing, Jane Harden. Rose did not see how 
Melanctha could bear to ever see her, but Melanctha always was so good 
to everybody, she never would know how to act to people the way they 
deserved that she should do it. 

Rose did not know much about Melanctha, and Jeff Campbell and 
Jane Harden. All Rose knew about Melanctha was her old life with 
her mother and her father. Rose was always glad to be good to poor 
Melanctha, who had had such an awful time with her mother and her 
father, and now she was alone and had nobody who could help her. 
"He was an awful black man to you Melanctha, I like to get my hands 
on him so he certainly could feel it. I just would Melanctha, now you 
hear me." 

Perhaps it was this simple faith and simple anger and simple moral 
way of doing in Rose, that Melanctha now found such a comfort to her. 
Rose was selfish and was stupid and was lazy, but she was decent and 


knew always what was the right way she should do, and what she 
wanted, and she certainly did admire how bright was her friend Me- 
lanctha Herbert, and she certainly did feel how very much it was she 
always suffered and she scolded her to keep her from more trouble, and 
she never was angry when she found some of the different ways Me- 
lanctha Herbert sometimes had to do it. 

And so always Rose and Melanctha were more and more together, 
and Jeff Campbell could now hardly ever any more be alone with Me- 

Once Jeff had to go away to another town to see a sick man. "When 
I come back Monday Melanctha, I come Monday evening to see you. 
You be home alone once Melanctha to see me." "Sure Jeff, I be glad to 
see you!" 

When Jeff Campbell came to his house on Monday there was a note 
there from Melanctha. Could Jeff come day after to-morrow, Wednes- 
day? Melanctha was so sorry she had to go out that evening. She was 
awful sorry and she hoped Jeff would not be angry. 

Jeff was angry and he swore a little, and then he laughed, and then 
he sighed. "Poor Melanctha, she don't know any way to be real honest, 
but no matter, I sure do love her and I be good if she will let me." 

Jeff Campbell went Wednesday night to see Melanctha. Jeff Camp- 
bell took her in his arms and kissed her. "I certainly am awful sorry not 
to see you Jeff Monday, the way I promised, but I just couldn't Jeff, no 
way I could fix it." Jeff looked at her and then he laughed a little at her. 
"You want me to believe that really now Melanctha. All right I believe 
it if you want me to Melanctha. I certainly be good to you to-night the 
way you like it. I believe you certainly did want to see me Melanctha, 
and there was no way you could fix it." "Oh Jeff dear," said Melanctha, 
"I sure was wrong to act so to you. It's awful hard for me ever to say 
it to you, I have been wrong in my acting to you, but I certainly was 
bad this time Jeff to you. It do certainly come hard to me to say it Jeff, 
but I certainly was wrong to go away from you the way I did it. Only 
you always certainly been so bad Jeff, and such a bother to me, and 
making everything always so hard for me, and I certainly got some way 
to do it to make it come back sometimes to you. You bad boy Jeff, now 
you hear me and this certainly is the first time Jeff I ever yet said it to 
anybody, I ever been wrong, Jeff, you hear me!" "All right Melanctha, 


I sure do forgive you, cause it's certainly the first time I ever heard you 
say you ever did anything wrong the way you shouldn't," and Jeff 
Campbell laughed and kissed her, and Melanctha laughed and loved 
him, and they really were happy now for a little time together. 

And now they were very happy in each other and then they were 
silent and then they became a little sadder and then they were very 
quiet once more with each other. 

"Yes I certainly do love you Jeff!" Melanctha said and she was very 
dreamy. "Sure, Melanctha." "Yes Jeff sure, but not the way you are 
now ever thinking. I love you more and more seems to me Jeff always, 
and I certainly do trust you more and more always to me when I know 
you. I do love you Jeff, sure yes, but not the kind of way of loving you 
are ever thinking it now Jeff with me. I ain't got certainly no hot pas- 
sion any more now in me. You certainly have killed all that kind of feel- 
ing now Jeff in me. You certainly do know that Jeff, now the way I 
am always, when I am loving with you. You certainly do know that 
Jeff, and that's the way you certainly do like it now in me. You cer- 
tainly don't mind now Jeff, to hear me say this to you." 

Jeff Campbell was hurt so that it almost killed him. Yes he certainly 
did know now what it was to have real hot love in him, and yet Me- 
lanctha certainly was right, he did not deserve she should ever give it 
to him. "All right Melanctha I ain't ever kicking. I always will give you 
certainly always everything you want that I got in me. I take anything 
you want now to give me. I don't say never Melanctha it don't hurt me, 
but I certainly don't say ever Melanctha it ought ever to be any dif- 
ferent to me." And the bitter tears rose up in Jeff Campbell, and they 
came and choked his voice to be silent, and he held himself hard to keep 
from breaking. / 

"Good-night Melanctha," and Jeff was very humble to her. "Good- 
night Jeff, I certainly never did mean any way to hurt you. I do love 
you, sure Jeff every day more and more, all the time I know you." "I 
know Melanctha, I know, it's never nothing to me. You can't help it, 
anybody ever the way they are feeling. It's all right now Melanctha, 
you believe me, good-night now Melanctha, I got now to leave you, 
good-by Melanctha, sure don't look so worried to me, sure Melanctha 
I come again soon to see you." And then Jeff stumbled down the steps, 
and he went away fast to leave her. 


And now the pain came hard and harder in Jeff Campbell, and he 
groaned, and it hurt him so, he could not bear it. And the tears came, 
and his heart beat, and he was hot and worn and bitter in him. 

Now Jeff knew very well what it was to love Melanctha. Now Jeff 
Campbell knew he was really understanding. Now Jeff knew what it 
was to be good to Melanctha. Now Jeff was good to her always. 

Slowly Jeff felt it a comfort in him to have it hurt so, and to be good 
to Melanctha always. Now there was no way Melanctha ever had had 
to bear things from him, worse than he now had it in him. Now Jeff 
was strong inside him. Now with all the pain there was peace in him. 
Now he knew he was understanding, now he knew he had a hot love 
in him, and he was good always to Melanctha Herbert who was the one 
had made him have it. Now he knew he could be good, and not cry out 
for help to her to teach him how to bear it. Every day Jeff felt himself 
more a strong man, the way he once had thought was his real self, 
the way he knew it. Now Jeff Campbell had real wisdom in him, and 
it did not make him bitter when it hurt him, for Jeff knew now all 
through him that he was really strong to